To Have Loved and Lost
by formerAnnie
Summary: Friend, stranger, ally, lover, sister, enemy, warrior, and protector, all in one strange woman who knows more than she will admit...and a past that few can claim to know.
1. Prologue: The Favor

Author's Note: Unlike my POTC story, I'm going to keep my readers in the dark about the added character's background, identity, etc. from the beginning. To reveal her past, I'm going to have flashbacks. Another thing that I'm going to do more is the switching of points of view. However much I would love to stay on my character's point of view, the mystery I want surrounding her is ten times more potent than that of Laura Lark from my other story. -This- means that my added character is thinking to herself, aside from the letter in this chapter, I'll italicize flashbacks, and I'll just write translations for any elvish. Advice is always welcome. I hope you enjoy this!

Prologue: The Favor

The messenger ran into the village of Combe like the wind. The wizard who had sent him on this errand several days ago had insisted that the letter be delivered "yesterday." Besides, having dealings with fearful wizards was enough to the messenger to race in itself: to get the letter out of his hands. On the other end of town, the man nearly tripped over the drunk stumbling along the roadside. Screeching to a sudden stop, he looked up at the hanging inn sign, which was attached to a dark, two story building. Confirming that it read "The Inn of the Hunting Horn," he nearly fell through the doorway, panting. Swiping the curly, red hair out of his face, the messenger scanned the dim, lamp-lit common room with his eyes. Picking the innkeeper out as the one behind the scratched counter, he trotted over to the double-chinned woman.

"Are…are you the innkeeper?" he breathlessly asked to confirm his thought. There were three other people in the room who could have been the place's owner with the way they were offering more ale to the dozen or so others sitting at the tables.

"Is there something I can get you, lad?" the rather homely woman cheerfully asked, turning her bright green eyes to the man. They looked ready to laugh at a moment's notice.

Holding the letter out to the woman, he went on,

"I was told to deliver this to a ranger staying here…called…"

"Falathiel?" the woman finished for him when he stuttered. "It apparently means huntress, however I don't know why a few people insist on calling her that…possibly as a hint to the sender. Around here, and probably many other places, she's known as Drifter." Then, snatching the note from the man and looking at the seal, she continued, "No wonder you were told to ask for Falathiel. She hasn't gotten a letter from old Gandalf in years…at least while she was here."

Once again, the messenger stammered.

"Oh, of course," the innkeeper said, pulling a chair up for the man and pouring a mug of wine. "I'll make sure Drifter gets the letter."

--

The woman sat in a carved wooden chair in front of the warm hearth in her room. The only way anyone could possibly tell that she was a woman with the cloak still shadowing her face was her small form. When the door creaked open, she shot up with a hand on her sword. She couldn't have been taller than five feet and a few inches when not hunched over, ready to spring the way she was as the innkeeper slipped in.

"Sorry to disturb you, miss, but a messenger came with a letter about an hour ago. I would have come sooner, but the guests tonight are rather demanding."

At the innkeeper's apology, the woman relaxed and parted her shapely lips to show perfect teeth in a kind smile. Her voice was of a medium pitch, hinting at a sweet and soft voice which had turned to a slightly lower key after years of hardship.

"You have nothing to be sorry for, Clorissa. And, please stop calling me miss. You have known me long enough to simply say my name."

"Of course, Drifter, about this letter…" The large woman's hand stopped halfway to her long apron as her gaze fell upon Drifter's wet and dirty appearance. "Goodness, girl! Aren't you going to wash up? Do I have to go through this with you every three months when you stay here?"

Drifter raised her hand to stop the other woman's speech.

"Alright, mother hen, I'll bathe. I know I'll be back in this state by this time tomorrow, but I'll bathe…now may I have the letter?"

Squinting her eyes at the still-hooded young woman in front of her, the innkeeper replied,

"Not until you and your clothes are clean. Now, hand them over and they'll be done in an hour."

Sighing, Drifter removed her soaked cloak, revealing a mess of light brown, shoulder-length curls (at least they were shoulder-length and brown in the dirty knots they were in) and deep blue eyes.

"Come on," Clorissa coaxed while Drifter slowly removed her worn boots.

When the girl was finally stripped down to a light blanket wrapped around her, the other woman bustled out the door, saying,

"I'll be right back with hot water."

An hour later, Drifter was clean and back in her clothes. Her arms were crossed as Clorissa looked her up and down.

"Well, at least you had the sense to brush your hair this time," the large woman commented.

"That is because last time, you very nearly ripped it out doing it yourself. Now, may I please have the letter and some peace and quiet?"

"Yes, as soon as I get your hair back. You always have it nearly covering your lovely face."

As the chubby hand reached for Drifter's hair, the smaller woman grabbed the letter from where she knew it would be and dodged away.

"You should know better than almost anyone to try pulling my hair back."

"Oh, fine. I suppose you'll be gone in the morning?"

"Most likely, dear Clorissa. Good night."

"Same to you dear," Clorissa answered, shutting the door after exiting.

"Gandalf," Drifter wondered at the seal before opening it.

"_Drifter, __You know that I would normally come to you myself, but these are urgent times. __It__ has been found. It is in the possession of a hobbit, Frodo Baggins, who I sent to Bree with a companion of his. I plan on meeting them there, however, I would like your help in bringing them to Rivendell. Strider will also be there. If I do not arrive at Bree the day after you receive this letter, continue on with Strider and the hobbits. I will meet you at Rivendell. The hobbit in whose hands I have entrusted the item in question will be staying at the Inn of the Prancing Pony and will be using the name of Mr. Underhill. Make haste and protect this hobbit with your life. The fate of Middle-Earth hangs in the balance. My condolences for the hardship you have been forced to endure. __Gandalf__"_

"Very well, old friend, but I do not need your condolences," Drifter said to the letter before throwing it into the fire. "Now to collect a few things I'll need for this day-long walk. Baggins…that was the name of someone Gandalf traveled with years ago."

Thanks for reading! Please, R&R.


	2. The Mysterious Ally

Thank you kit9888 for your review!

Author's Note: For any switching of points of view, I'll just have the viewer's name above the section in parentheses. Also, I'll be changing some details of people's pasts, etc.

The Mysterious Ally

Strider sat in a dark corner, waiting for the hobbit he had been sent to protect; however, momentarily, something else was drawing his attention. A cloaked figure entered the Prancing Pony. The newcomer's ragged and grimy appearance reminded the ranger of himself. The innkeeper, Buffer, stopped in front of the person with a nervous smile on his face, eagerly bustling away after a few seconds of conversation. He continued watching the stranger until he found that he was staring straight back from underneath the enveloping cloak, causing Strider to look away in hopes that he had not been utterly noticed. That was when four hobbits entered the inn. From his corner, the ranger could see the halflings rent a room and sit down for a drink, obviously to wait for Gandalf, who was probably not coming at that point.

(Frodo)

The young Baggins was warily watching the woman in the corner just behind him. No one could have deciphered her gender, accept for her slight figure and the long, knotted string of brown hair dangling down past the shadow of her hood. Of course, in these parts, it could have simply been a man with long hair, however unlikely. Then, Sam nudged him with his elbow, motioning towards another figure in the corner in front of them, which was obviously a man, giving more evidence to the fact that the person behind him was a woman.

"That fellow's done nothin' but stare at you since we arrived."

Stopping the innkeeper passing by, Frodo asked,

"Excuse me, that man in the corner, who is he?"

"He's one of them rangers," Buffer cautiously replied. "Dangerous folk they are…wandering the wilds. What his right name is I've never heard, but around here, he's known as Strider."

"And the woman behind me?" Frodo further probed as Sam looked at the woman muttering,

"Should've noticed her."

"Another ranger no one knows the name of," the innkeeper said, this time scratching his head, perplexed. "She's only been in here once…and that was several years ago…actually, she was oddly asking about Strider. Anyway, all I know is that she's called Drifter and that she leaves tips in her room."

"Thank you," Frodo said, letting Buffer continue on by. He looked behind him again, but the woman was gone. Fingering the ring, he whispered, "Strider."

(Drifter)

The woman trotted softly up the stairs and entered the room Buffer had claimed was Strider's. If she knew anything about male rangers, Strider would grab Frodo and confront him in his room. At least she thought she knew male rangers since she had been following this one around for some time. Getting in the way would do her no good. Just like she predicted, a few moments later, Strider burst into the room with the young hobbit in tow. Drifter almost found it humorous that the man and halfling did not notice her, but the entire situation would not allow for it, for she knew that the Nazgul would be after them throughout their entire trek to Imladris.

"What do you want?" Frodo questioned, getting up from the sprawled position Strider had thrown him into while the ranger man removed the hood of his cloak.

"A little more caution from you," was the quick and quiet reply. "That is no trinket you carry."

"I carry nothing!" the hobbit denied.

"Indeed," Strider responded as he put out the candles. "I can avoid being seen if I wish. But to disappear entirely, that is a rare gift."

"Who are you?"

"Are you frightened?"

"Yes."

"Not nearly frightened enough. I know what hunts you."

Their little snappy dialogue was cut short as the other three hobbits forced their way in the door with a few odds and ends in the place of weapons. Strider lowered his drawn sword and Drifter released the grip on the hilt of her own when the leading hobbit cried,

"Let him go! Or I'll have you Longshanks!"

Sheathing his weapon, the man addressed the little one.

"You have a stout heart, little hobbit, but that will not save you. You can no longer wait for the wizard, Frodo. They're coming."

"And you will need my help," Drifter stated, stepping out of the shadows, though her cloak still covered her face. In response, Strider smoothly grabbed a dagger from his belt and put it to the girl's throat, though she did nothing to protect herself. "Le ier il i' ere' er ya aa' esta e' seere no' i' fenda en' du, Estel," (You are not the only one who may rest in peace on the threshold of darkness, Estel.)

"How do you know me?" he gruffly asked.

Removing the hood of her cloak, she replied,

"We have a common friend and a common enemy." Although a trickle of blood had begun to flow from where the dagger at her throat was, she did not flinch. Instead, she stared right back at the tall ranger in front of her.

--

After finally moving the hobbits and their packs to the inn across the street, Drifter sat down in one of the chairs near the window to watch for the Nazgul, while her charges settled down in their beds. When the halflings were all asleep, Strider came to sit in the chair next to her own. Minutes went by, but neither of them spoke. Drifter, meanwhile, studied the features of the man beside her. He had dark, somewhat long hair and light blue eyes. Like herself, he was rugged and dirty, yet there was something noble about him. He was the first one to break the silence.

"How did you know my elvish name?"

Drifter shifted slightly, though being careful to not make her movements appear to be out of nervousness. Though she had been following Strider around for years, this was the first time he had even seen her. Clearing her throat, she calmly answered,

"…Gandalf probably knew that I would need some way to win your trust."

-It is not the truth, but neither is it a lie. Gandalf did most likely wish I had a way of winning this ranger's trust…even though it was not where I learned the name. He reminds me of another ranger I knew -

The duo once again fell into silence.

_The fourteen year old girl managed a decent blow, causing the ranger training her to fall over._

"_These wooden staves are giving you a good many bruises, old man. Perhaps we should resort to grass," she lightly suggested while helping her leader stand. _

_Limping to a nearby bench, he replied,_

"_Actually, I was thinking of giving you a real sword. You've earned it."_

"_Really?" the girl excitedly asked, however, with a maturity beyond her years._

"_Really. There is no more I can teach you that you do not already know. You are better than me with the sword by far, and as good as an elf with your bow and arrows."_

"_What about these?" she asked with twinkle of mischievousness in her eyes as a dagger suddenly appeared in her hand and she casually threw it into the ranger's already-tattered cloak draped over the bench._

"_Yes, alright, those too! You're cockiness is going to get me killed one day," the man cried, jumping up from the seat._

"_Oh, don't say things like that! You know that I, of all people, would take a blow for you: the great Arathorn. You have taken care of me yourself since I was ten years old and have done an excellent job, so I owe you at least that."_

"_You owe me nothing, __Minuialwen."_

"_Please, don't use my elvish name."_

"_Very well."_

Suddenly, a screeching was heard from the Prancing Pony. The Nazgul had clearly discovered that their plans had been temporarily foiled. Frodo and the other hobbits, Sam, Merry, and Pippin, sat up in their beds with a start.

"What are they?" the Baggins queried.

"They were once Men," Strider replied. "Great kings of Men. Then Sauron the Deceiver gave to them nine Rings of Power. Blinded by their greed, they took them without question, one by one falling into darkness. Now they are slaves to his will. They are the Nazgul, Ringwraiths, neither living nor dead. At all times they feel the presence of the Ring. Drawn to the power of the One. They will never stop hunting you."

As she saw the wraiths gallop away on their black steeds, Drifter announced,

"They have left. We must leave soon if we plan on reaching our destination without them blocking our way too soon. Samwise, I suppose you will need a beast of burden for all of those pots and pans you call necessities. I saw a pony for sale on my way into Bree. It should still be available." Without another word she walked out the door.

--

By daybreak, they had already covered a few miles of ground. However Drifter would have liked going faster, she stayed at the rear of the group, aiding the hobbits when they fell, which was rather often, and making sure that their passing had not left too much of a trail.

"Where are you taking us?" Frodo called out to Strider.

"Into the wild," the girl barely heard the other ranger answer.

"How do we know this Strider is a friend of Gandalf?" Merry whispered to the Ring-bearer. Drifter was glad to be ignored. Being social was never her forte.

"I think a servant of the Enemy would look fairer and feel fouler," was the reply.

"He's foul enough."

"We have no choice but to trust him."

"But where is he leading us?" Sam complained.

"To Rivendell, Master Gamgee," their leader responded without looking back, "to the House of Elrond."

"Did you hear that? Rivendell! We're going to see the Elves!"

A few hours later, the temperature dropped to the point where Drifter could see her breath in the air. She almost ran into the hobbits as they stopped and began taking their cookware out. The woman warily scanned the horizon as Strider questioned the halflings of their actions. Something caused the invisible hairs on her neck to stand straight out. Evil was near and it made her uncomfortable.

"We've had one, yes," Pippin was haggling. "What about second breakfast?" As Strider walked off, Merry put in,

"Don't think he knows about second breakfast, Pip." Shocked, the youngest hobbit questioned,

"What about elevenses? Luncheon? Afternoon tea? Dinner? Supper? He knows about them, doesn't he?"

"I wouldn't count on it."

Drifter breathed a laugh as an apple thrown by Strider hit Pippin in the head from behind a thicket of bushes. By the time evening came, they were in marshland, where Drifter temporarily removed her cloak to put it on the pony for protection against the attacking mosquitoes. When night came and they set up camp for the night, the bugs finally left them alone. While the hobbits slept, the rangers sat next to the fire. Strider began humming an elvish song that Drifter recognized; however Frodo awoke and asked,

"Who is she? This woman you sing of?"

"Tis the Lay of Luthien," the man sadly answered. "The Elf-maiden who gave her love to Beren, a mortal."

"What happened to her?"

"She died. Get some sleep, Frodo." Seeing a hint of tears in Strider's eyes, Drifter decided to risk giving away more than she wanted to for the purpose of comforting him.

"You deserve each other, Estel."

"Again, you call me that," he growled, clearly annoyed. Ignoring the interruption, the woman continued.

"Just because you are a mortal does not mean that you cannot be happy with your Luthien."

"Do you practice being vague?"

Drifter couldn't help but smile.

"A trait I picked up from the ranger who trained me."

They were silent for an hour before Drifter stated,

"You get some sleep. I'll keep watch." When Strider hesitated, she raised her eyebrows. "Don't worry, I will wake you." She smirked as he walked away from the fire to lay down some five feet away.

--

At dawn, Drifter walked over to the still sleeping ranger and touched him on the shoulder. As he bolted upright, she once again found his dagger at her throat.

"Haven't you figured out that I am not your enemy, yet?"

"You did not wake me," Strider hissed.

"I said I would wake you. I did not, however, say that I would wake you for your watch. You looked like you needed the rest last night." At this, she walked away to wake the hobbits so that Sam could prepare breakfast. Strider was staring at the dot of blood on his dagger. As Drifter turned back to face him and find out why he had not arisen, she discovered that he was looking between her and the dagger. Looking down, she noticed the bit of blood drying on her neck. "Oh," she casually said, "I have had far worse in the past."

--

For most of that day, Drifter was silent, except to give advice in their directional strategy. She had passed this way years before, and the memories of it were not enjoyable.

"_What are you doing, child? You do not have to cover our trail. We are only scouting the area. Amon Sul was abandoned years ago and is still as empty as a tomb."_

"_The tomb part is what I am worried about," the seventeen year old muttered, warily looking around. "It was only two days ago that we were nearly ambushed by those orcs because of my carelessness."_

"_It was my fault as well, but we did not lose any of our men."_

"_I know, but still…" She was cut off as they heard rustling in the bushes. They were suddenly surrounded and outnumbered: eight rangers to twenty orcs. "…I do not think that they would give up that easily."_

_As all of the rangers clumped together, drawing their swords, Arathorn commented,_

"_If we survive this, I promise you that I will never ignore your advice again."_

"_What are you saying?" the girl whispered back. "We __are__ going to get out of this and we __will__ reach Imladris."_

_The companions were soon fighting for their lives. After only a minute, three rangers were already dead._

Stopping in his tracks Aragorn motioned to the stone ruins in the field ahead, for they had long left the marsh-lands.

"This was the great watchtower of Amon Sul," he pondered. "We shall rest here tonight."

Drifter automatically looked behind her before following the other ranger and the hobbits into the structure.

"I will go do some scouting. This place makes me uneasy," she stated as Strider was taking out a bundle of what seemed to be daggers for the hobbits. Walking around to the other side of the ruins, she stood next to a large rock and scanned the area for movement.

_Hoping to make a stand, the three remaining rangers ran towards the watchtower in the fog._

"_We have to keep running!" the young woman called to her leader a few steps ahead of her. "We'll be overrun if we slow down to weave around those stones."_

"_Very well," Arathorn relented. "We will at least make a stand on the other side. There are fewer rocks there for the enemy to sneak around."_

"_Very well." The little group finally managed to reach the opposite side of Amun Sul before the ten remaining orcs surrounded them. The rangers lashed out at their foes, downing five of them before falling back to the stones._

"_Where is Galish?" Arathorn questioned his remaining companion. The answer was an anguished scream somewhere in the mist. _

"Drifter!" Strider called from behind her as he approached. "What do you see?"

Suddenly, the girl's instinct told her what her senses could not.

"Evil is near," she stated, leaving the man still standing and looking out at the field to race up the hill. "Frodo!" she cried as she saw the lead Nazgul stabbing at the ground. He had obviously put the Ring on. There were five enemies. "Ndu nîn, mori ohtar, (Down me, dark warrior)" Drifter challenged. If her goal was to gain the attention of all five wraiths and have the sword in Frodo removed, she achieved it. After battling them for only a few strokes, Strider ran onto the scene with a flaming torch, plus his sword, giving the girl an opportunity to check the ring-bearer. He suddenly appeared in mid scream as she bent down to check his wounded shoulder. Slipping a pinch of dried herbs from the pouch on her belt, Drifter placed the plant onto the wound, causing the hobbit to cry out again.

"Frodo!" Sam cried, rushing to his friend's side while the ranger girl muttered to herself,

"Not half enough to heal him."

"Strider! Help him, Strider!" Sam went on after the man had driven the Nazgul away. While Strider knelt down to Frodo, Drifter walked back to the structure's edge so that the halfling would not be utterly crowded. She could still see their foes fleeing in the distance, but knew that they would soon be back with the rest of their group.

--

The woman ran at the back of the caravan.

"Hurry!" Strider called.

"We're six days from Rivendell," Sam hopelessly shouted. "He'll never make it!'

Before dawn, the hobbits were exhausted and they were forced to stop at a circle of stone trolls. Drifter smiled slightly before stalking off into the trees.

"Where are you going?!" she faintly heard Merry query. Once far enough from their camp to not hear the halflings' conversation, the ranger turned to the slight rustle in the undergrowth.

"An elf has no need to hide from me," she stated, soon finding an elvish sword at her throat. Slowly turning to face the elf-maiden, Drifter smiled. "Do you not remember me, old friend, or does everyone find pleasure in threatening my life before trusting me?"

"Lyn?" the elf asked.

"It is good to see you too, Arwen. I nearly forgot your pet name for me."

At that, the elf princess sheathed her sword and embraced the ranger.

"I thought you were dead, Lyn, the way you disappeared suddenly without warning. Ada had scouts searching for you weeks after your departure."

"I have definitely had a few close calls, but you should go find Aragorn. I will return to the hobbits."

Thanks for reading! Please, rate!


	3. From Exile to Old Exile

Thanks kit9888, Pissenoffanis, and Lift the Wings for your reviews!

From Exile to Old Exile

"Where did you go?" Sam demanded as Drifter stepped out of the shadows. "What were you doing? Where's Strider?" He was ignored as the woman took a wide strip of soft cloth from her belt pouch, wet it with her own water, and dabbed Frodo's feverish forehead.

"I would do more if I could, but this wound is too deep for me to heal. If only I had not left you on that hill, this would not have happened." Frodo's eyes widened at something behind the ranger. Not bothering to look behind her, Drifter moved aside near the other hobbits as she heard Arwen's voice address the halfling.

"Frodo…Im Arwen. Telin le thaed. Lasto beth nîn. Tolo dan na ngalad. (I am Arwen. I have come to help you. Hear my voice. Come back to the light.)"

"Who is she?" Merry asked in awe as the elf bent down to Frodo.

"She's an elf," Sam stated.

"He's fading!" Arwen was saying. "He's not going to last. We must get him to my father. I've been looking for you for two days. There are five wraiths behind you. Where the other four are, I do not know."

Drifter was petting Asfaloth, Arwen's horse, while Strider set Frodo on the steed and insisted to the elf,

"Dartho guin perian. Rych le ad tolthathon. (Stay with the Hobbits. I will send horses back for you.)"

"Hon mabathon. Rochon ellint im, (I'm the faster rider. I'll take him)" Arwen replied.

"Andelu i ven, (The road is too dangerous)" the ranger argued.

"Frodo fîr. Ae athradon i hir, tur gwaith nin beriatha hon. (Frodo's dying. If I can get across the river, the power of my people will protect him) I do not fear them."

"Be iest lîn. (As you wish) Arwen, ride hard. Don't look back."

Arwen mounted behind Frodo, urging her horse,

"Noro lim, Asfaloth, noro lim! (Ride fast, Asfaloth, ride fast)"

"What are you doing?!" Sam yelled as Arwen disappeared into the trees. "Those wraiths are still out there!"

"Strider," Drifter whispered, "we should rest for a little while before the trek to Rivendell."

Nodding, Aragorn continued staring into the underbrush while the hobbits glumly set up camp.

"They will make it," she went on. "I know Arwen well enough to be confident in that."

--

After the sun was well over the horizon, it was Drifter who led and urged the group on. No one complained, however, since they all were worried sick for Frodo's fate. They, in fact, made such good time that they were in view of Rivendell by the next evening. The elves along the roadside cheerfully greeted Strider and the hobbits, instantly taking them to their rooms inside the city with great courtesy; however, Drifter was left to bring their pony to the stable herself, though she did not mind. Silently brushing the small, faithful steed, she whispered to him,

"You have done your duty well, Bill."

As she was giving the pony a sugar-cube, Arwen suddenly said from behind her,

"I thought I would find you here. It was one of your favorite places in the days you called Imladris home."

Not even bothering to turn from her work to face the princess, the ranger replied,

"Those days are over, Arwen. I left in disgrace, and I know that there is no way for me to gain it back."

"You did not leave in disgrace, Lyn. There are people here who still respect you."

"Who?"

Approaching the rugged woman, the elf responded,

"Me, my father. That is all that matters."

Smiling to herself and pausing in her work, Drifter corrected,

"I had love. A love I buried so deep inside myself these past years to protect it that I only half remembered why I rejected the men who wooed me." When Arwen looked slightly confused, she went on. "We kept it secret, for fear that others would shun him. He is an elf, so I know that he would never forget me or love another. It makes me feel ashamed that I nearly forgot. Of course, I couldn't have completely forgotten with this." With the last sentence, she lifted a long, thin cord around her neck from under her traveling dress. Attached to it were two rings. The one she was holding was a simple, twisting band of reflective silver which looked plain at first, but instantly confused the eyes as to its pattern if studied too hard. The other one hanging idly on the cord was of a somewhat dull metal. The only interesting feature of it was the mark of Rohan. "We were engaged," she finished before once again hiding the rings.

"How did you come by a ring of Rohan?" Arwen asked, her interest peaking.

"A simple trinket from my travels," was the reply.

"You made it all the way to Rohan?"

"You forget, Evenstar, I had plenty of time on my hands."

"Of course. Now, since the other elves found you unworthy to be brought to a room, I can take you to your old place on the outskirts of the city," the elf suggested.

"It is still there?" Drifter queried, her sad eyes regaining a bit of long-lost spark.

"Yes. In fact, I even kept it maintained, for the most part, in hopes that you would return," the princess answered, leading the ranger out of the stable and to the outskirts of the city.

It was a small and simple dwelling on the opposite side of the river as the rest of the elven base, just as the girl remembered as she stepped through the carved doorway, although the simplicity did not, in any way, eliminate the glamour of Rivendell.

"It's just as I remember," Drifter said as she fingered the intricate bedpost.

"I should return to my father. You should know that there is to be a gathering in a few days to discuss the fate of the Ring. You're invited. Representatives from all over Middle-Earth will be there, so a feast will be held in their honor the night before. Even you know to wear a dress."

"Of course, Arwen," Drifter replied as the elf stepped out. "I am not as reluctant to wear decent dresses as you may think."

The girl welcomed the silence that followed. After years of reclusiveness, she had suddenly been thrown back into the city which haunted her memories. She shivered while looking at the chair next to the desk across the room.

_The young woman sat on her cushioned bed looking at the ring on her finger. Her love had just proposed a week ago. Unfortunately, he would be leaving to return to his home in two days. It would be then that she would have to make the choice of whether to stay in the sanctuary of Rivendell and wait for him to return in several years or go with him in hopes that his father would approve of their love. Standing and smoothly walking to a window, she looked out at the full moon and closed her eyes. The sound of the nearby waterfall always calmed her nerves. A moment later, she caught sight of a letter sitting on her desk and recognized her fiancé's handwriting. Carefully unfolding the paper she read: "My love, Please meet me on the bridge where we met at midnight. Your enemies here are beginning to stir. It is not safe for you anymore. If you returned with me to my home, I could protect you…" Her reading was cut off as someone burst in her door. Standing from her seat, she addressed the intruder._

"_Anira__, I should have expected you, however, you are not welcome here."_

_A quiet laugh was the answer as four more figures appeared behind the first. Instead of panicking, the woman calmly continued,_

"_Are you afraid that you won't be able to handle me yourself, Anira? Even for your cautious nature, all of Elrond's advisors? You surprise me."_

"_You are undeserving, human," the leading elf hissed. "It is unthinkable for a human without even any nobility to be in love with one of our own, who has the potential to become an amazing leader, beyond any existing today. You would only be a distraction for him."_

"_What do you want?"_

"_We want you out of Rivendell and away from elves in general," another elf demanded._

"_And what will you do if I refuse?"_

"_There are ways," Anira threatened. "Being Lord Elrond's advisors, we can always have you officially banished."_

"_Will you allow me time to pack a few essentials?" the only human in the room queried with a slight smile. All she got for a reply was five deadly stares. "Two minutes," she stated, fetching her mended ranger dress from the closet, as well as her cloak, boots, and other necessities. A minute later, she was back in her familiar ranger garb and reaching for her weapons, a sword, a bow, with a quiver full of arrows, and five daggers, but her enemies stopped her. _

"_Do you think that we would be that foolish?" Anira asked, grabbing the weapons out of the woman's reach. In response, she ran towards the back door, only to be grabbed by one of the male elves. Punching and kicking were her only options for escaping the strong arms holding her. That and grabbing her desk chair for the purpose of successfully knocking the elf unconscious. Although she achieved that goal, the others were instantly upon her. _

_Ten minutes later, the woman was shoved outside the south gate, her weapons soon tossed after her._

"_Lye dagnir, nîn mela. (Our bane, my love)"_

"Hello?" a female voice called from inside, followed by a young elf-maiden with dark brown hair and chocolate eyes stepping through the back doorway. "Lyn? Is it really you?"

Drifter suddenly became aware that she had wandered into her old training area, a closed in yard accessible through the cabin's back door.

"It is I, Miluiel," the woman answered her old friend before the maiden tackled her with a rather unelf-like hug.

"I knew that you would return! Arwen and Lord Elrond were the only ones who believed me!"

Gently returning the embrace, the ranger replied,

"I am here, dear friend, but I'm not planning on staying for long. You, Arwen, and Elrond may be the only ones who would not throw me out at a moment's notice, although I can think of a few people who won't anymore." The last sentence was emphasized by an almost cruel grin that instantly disappeared.

"Well, there's Gandalf the Grey. He's here, you know."

"Gandalf is here?!" Drifter questioned, relief sweeping through her.

"Yes, didn't you know that?"

"Come inside, Miluiel. You and I have much to catch up on."

Throughout the next hour, she learned from her friend that the advisors had gone missing some years before on their way to Lorien after being banished by Elrond for throwing Drifter out behind his back and that Miluiel was engaged to an elf that she was madly in love with, but annoyed the ranger by not revealing who he was. Apparently, he would be coming with the Mirkwood party for the Council. Drifter collapsed on her bed directly after the elf left.

-Elrond was not responsible for my leaving here. I thought he wouldn't do that. Who could Miluiel's fiancé be? Well, I suppose I'll see in a couple of days-

By the time Drifter awoke, it was already dark outside. She loved nighttime in Rivendell. Even though elves did not sleep, they usually went indoors at night to give anyone who wanted to walk without disturbance a chance to do so. After enjoying a cool bath, combing her hair, and dressing in a light blue, ankle-length dress, she went outside to watch the waterfall from the bridge.

(Wow, I stayed on Drifter's p.o.v. for a long time! Time to switch! Gandalf)

Gandalf stepped out of Frodo's room, exhausted. Elrond was still trying to heal the poor hobbit's wound from the Nazgul. It had been a full day, and yet, Frodo was still on the verge of darkness.

As the wizard leaned against the railing, a woman caught his eye. She was standing on the bridge near the waterfall. Though she was not facing him, he could see that she was wearing a light blue, elvish gown, and her voluminous, light brown hair was fluttering in the breeze. Not only that, but she looked like an acquaintance of his. Walking down the stairs and to the bridge, Gandalf approached her. She was somewhat short, especially compared to his massive height, hardly over five feet. As she turned her sapphire eyes to him, he easily recognized her.

"Gandalf!" she softly exclaimed, slightly smiling.

"Hello, dear girl! So, you got my letter. I was afraid that that rascal messenger would simply dally and then forget it."

"You never did trust those runners, Gandalf, and you haven't changed," Drifter said, motioning to a nearby bench.

Seating himself next to the pretty young woman, the old wizard continued the conversation, eager to talk with his dear friend.

"And how have you been fairing, since…it happened?"

"You mean my being thrown out of the place I called home for so long?"

"No, I am talking a little more long term."

"…It's difficult having that much responsibility thrown at you all in one day."

"I understand…Now, onto to lighter talk. Did you find a little romance during your travels?"

"Gandalf!" the woman exclaimed as she quickly stood. "You know better than almost anyone that I had love before I left…and I still do!"

"But child, you think that he…"

"An elf can only love once!" the ranger interrupted. "…and…and they never forget! Out of all the things in the world, I know that he wouldn't forget…" Her legs wouldn't hold her any more, so she sat back down on the seat, staring at the palms of her hands. Gandalf tried to say something further, but she cut in again.

"No, Gandalf. Do not even think of it further. He loves me. He loves me and he waited for me. He'll come with the Mirkwood party and I'll be waiting."

The wizard paused, before changing the subject a bit.

"So you heard about the Council in a couple of days? Frodo should be up and about by then."

"That reminds me, how is Frodo?"

"Not very well, but Lord Elrond should have him up and about by tomorrow night."

Silence reigned until midnight, when Drifter broke the silence. With softness unlike a ranger, she stated,

"I'm late."

Gandalf, who had taken his pipe out and was making smoke rings, queried,

"Hmm?"

"All those years ago, the night I was banished…I was about to come meet him here, our favorite spot, the place we met."

"Dear girl," Gandalf began, chuckling past his pipe, "you have changed. Ah, the things you must have seen to become this serious. It used to be you could have passed for an elf without a care in the world, and now look at you: a regular shield-maiden, or, in this case, sword-maiden."

They both began laughing for almost no reason.

"Oh, Gandalf…all the things that have happened…I can't believe your hair still has any color left."

--

For most of the next day, Drifter trained in her small practice field. By early afternoon, she was so absorbed in the strokes of her sword, that she did not notice the dark-haired hobbit standing in the doorway of her house. Stopping to get a drink of water from her travel canteen hanging on the fence, she heard clapping. Whirling around, she saw Frodo smiling at her.

"I have never seen anything like that before!" he exclaimed.

-How did he know where I was? Oh, Elrond or Gandalf probably told him-

"Frodo!" Drifter called, running to the halfling and embracing him. "I am so glad to see that you're alright. Everyone was worried sick about you."

"I noticed," Frodo commented. "I came here because I never had the chance to thank you."

"You have nothing to thank me for, ring-bearer. I was simply doing my duty, what any ranger would do."

"Hmm, anyway, your sword-fighting abilities are remarkable."

"You should see the elves when they practice. I can barely keep up in a duel. Actually, I did win once, a long time ago."

After a moment of quiet, Frodo spoke up.

"Well, I should go before Sam sends out a search."

"Farewell, small one."

The girl was once again alone.

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	4. Who Betrayed Who?

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Who Betrayed Who?

The next morning, Drifter once again took advantage of a bath being readily available and dressed herself in a dark green, shin-high travel-style dress with long, flowing sleeves which contrasted the plainness of the gown's skirt. The neckline was somewhat low, but not enough to be revealing or enough to show the rings at the end of the chord on her neck. Gently picking up her sword from the bed, the woman unsheathed it and fingered the inscription: "Anoron tuulo' i' mori en' 'ksh (Dawn from the dark of evil)." Sheathing the weapon, Drifter strapped the belt to her trim waist, not caring if Elrond would disapprove of a sword being worn in his home. Traveling to the main city, Drifter wandered though the halls until she found herself confronted by Elrond himself.

"Even you should know that a sword is not necessary here, Minuialwen."

"One," the woman replied with a straight face, "you know that I don't like it when people address me by my elvish name, and two, you know that this is not just any sword." Neither the seasoned elf leader, nor the golden-haired ranger could keep their faces straight any longer. "It has been too long, Elrond!" she finished, lightly running to the elf and hugging him.

"Yes, it has," Elrond agreed continuing Drifter's walk with her, "…I suppose you still don't want me to use your real name?"

"No, the time is not right. You may call me Falathiel, old friend. It's the name I went by during my extensive travels before becoming a ranger once again."

"Yes, about your travels. Where exactly did you disappear to for all these years?"

Turning to go down a set of stairs, Drifter replied,

"I went many places, enough to lead whoever bears the Ring after tomorrow to Mount Doom."

"So you also believe that the Ring needs to be taken back and destroyed?"

"Yes, there is no other choice. If it stayed here or went anywhere else, it would seduce and destroy those around it."

"With that knowledge, you would still travel to Mount Doom with it?"

"If I were you, I would be the last person to choose for actually carrying the Ring. I'm too vulnerable to hold it for long. I only saw it in Frodo's hand on Weathertop and I still felt its pull…but yes, what must be done must be done. We cannot risk anything else."

"You have learned much, Falathiel…and have gone through much."

"Yes, but I will be happy once more when my fiancé returns today with the Mirkwood party."

Elrond looked troubled and was about to say something, but, instead, walked away, leaving Drifter standing in the middle of a garden alone. Following a few more hours of wandering around, the woman eventually meandered to a second story section with no one else around where she could easily see the east gate, and sat down on the bench, leaning on the railing.

"What are you looking for?" Frodo suddenly asked behind her, sitting down on the bench.

"Not what, but who," she corrected. "The representatives of Mirkwood will be coming soon and the one I love will most likely be among them."

"Do you mind if I wait with you?"

"Not at all, dear hobbit."

Drifter gently pulled her hair back, but let it envelop her ears once again after she realized what she was doing, but not before Frodo saw her ears.

"You're an elf!" he exclaimed.

"Shh," the woman quieted him. "Only a quarter, so I only have a few elven traits, immortality not among them. My mother was half elf. You must not tell anyone!"

"Well, why not? I'm sure that it would gain respect for you around here."

"You do not understand, Frodo. Questions would arise as to my true identity if I revealed that now…questions that I am not prepared to answer. You must understand."

"Go on."

"What?"

"Well…if I'm going to keep a secret about you like that, than you might as well tell me the rest," the hobbit stated.

"Very well, Ring-bearer."

--

Fifteen minutes later, three Mirkwood elves rode into the gate, causing Drifter to sit up, alert. As she was about to arise and run down the stairs, she saw a brown-haired elf-maiden run up to the group's leader and tightly embrace him before kissing him on the cheek. The ranger's hand resting on her sword tightened on the hilt as the male elf responded in kind to the maiden's actions. It was then that she realized that the maiden was, in fact, Miluiel.

"Is he among them?" Frodo asked with innocent curiosity.

"Umm…" Drifter stuttered for a moment before once again hardening. "No, my fiancé is not among them."

At this, the woman stalked away to the bridge. Removing the silver ring from the cord, she suspended her hand over the water, ready to drop the ring. Moments went by, but her hand was still holding the ring. Finally, Drifter walked to the nearby bench, sat down, and rocked herself back and forth, tears flowing down her cheeks and her hand clinging to the ring like a life-line.

"I can't do it," she whispered to herself. She felt miserable, betrayed, angry, confused. She had faithfully denied every man that had wooed her over the years when she could have settled down and had a family. He, on the other hand, had fallen in love with someone else, a chattery twit none the less. Only a few seconds later, the tears stopped and Drifter ran to her house, where she scrubbed her face with cold water until all evidence of her crying was gone. What would people think if they saw that she had been weeping? Over a traitorous lover of all things! If he didn't want her any more, then fine.

Standing, the woman walked over to the mirror. No one would even think that she had cried for a second. Smiling at the thought, Drifter smoothly walked straight to Elrond's quarters, specifically the office part of it. Just as she predicted, the elf leader was standing in his office talking with Gandalf.

-Perfect! Now, I don't have to have this conversation twice-

"Falathiel! What are you doing here?" the lord questioned as the woman entered.

"You knew!" she accused.

"What are you talking about?"

"You knew that he was engaged to another."

Sighing, Elrond looked at Gandalf for help, but the wizard simply continued smoking his pipe.

"Falathiel, I wanted to tell you, but…"

"Just answer me two questions, Elrond. First, can elves forget? I was always taught that they had memories almost as efficient as an Ent."

"It is very difficult to explain, but I will do my best. No elf fully understands it, but we can forget one thing during our time in Middle-Earth. For instance, your previous fiancé probably chose his memory of you. He will always know that he has forgotten something, but will never know what. As another example, I chose the memory of the last battle for Middle-Earth. Before you ask, the only reason I think that is because there is a considerable amount of time missing from that battle when I play it over in my mind. On the other hand, your lover will not know what he chose as other things happened during the time you knew him. Does that satisfy your hunger for knowledge?"

Drifter was sitting down, staring at the wall.

"Why, Elrond? Why would he want to forget me?"

"I notice that you have the tendency to ask the most difficult questions to answer. You did leave him without notice, but no one can actually answer that question for you. He is not yours any more."

"Thank you, Elrond," Drifter quietly said to hide the slight tremor in her voice.

"Are you going to be alright, child?" Gandalf asked, coming out of his silent pondering.

"I'll be alright. I almost forgot him once. There is no reason I cannot do so again."

"What if he comes on the journey?"

"Then I will act as if I have never seen him before. One other question…can he remember?"

"There is a chance he will remember who you are over time," Elrond answered, "but it is incredibly remote. Would you take him back from his new fiancé?"

It seemed hours before the girl finally answered.

"No. I would never forgive myself for hurting Miluiel. Thank you, Elrond, Gandalf," Drifter stated, walking out the door and wandering through Rivendell once again.

(Finally! Boromir)

The Steward's son wandered through the halls of Imladris. It was strange, being in an elvish city and surrounded by elves. He soon found himself in the stables to make sure that the locals had properly cared for his horse, not that he did not trust the elves. He stopped short as he saw a young woman brushing his horse. She was somewhat short for an elf or human, whichever she was. Her hair was curly, nearly reaching her waist, of a light brown color, though the light coming through the open barn door gave it a golden sheen, showing off flecks of red which would have otherwise been unnoticeable. Her oval face was flawless except for the obvious look of sadness and worry with a nose that was not quite as small as the Lady Arwen's but not large enough to blemish her beauty in any way. She couldn't have been more than twenty years old, yet her eyes, like two perfect pools of water framed by long, dark eyelashes, spoke of untold suffering and knowledge as they looked from their downcast position to gaze upon him.

"I am sorry," she said with a voice of a medium-high pitch. "I suppose this is your horse?"

Shaking himself out of his stupor, he responded,

"Do not be sorry. Consider being careful, though. He has a tendency to kick when confronted by new people."

"He is gentle enough with me," the woman replied before stating, "I am Drifter, a Ranger of the North." As Boromir opened his mouth to introduce himself, she interrupted, "I know who you are, Boromir, son of the Steward of Gondor. News travels like unwanted weeds here."

"I see. Would you like to take a walk with me, my lady?"

"Please, just call me Drifter, but yes. I have nothing better to do," she answered sadly, taking his offered arm and walking out with him. Though Boromir did not know why, she purposefully directed him away from the nearby bridge as if she was afraid of it. Minutes went by before he finally spoke up.

"You remind me of someone I once knew. In fact, you could be her mirror image, but it was years ago."

"Pray tell," Drifter coaxed, stopping and facing him.

"When I was a child and my mother died, a strange woman came to the White City. She took it upon herself to care for me and my younger brother…"

"Faramir," she finished, confusing Boromir with her extensive knowledge.

"Yes…Faramir. Anyway, I suppose she was my childhood crush. Unfortunately, my father banished her from Gondor for some reason that I have yet to decipher."

"Describe her to me," the woman offered. "Perhaps I know her. I do look very much like my mother, maybe she was the one."

"Well," he answered, "like I said, she looked very much like you. She was kind, understanding, slightly reclusive, fair, and always on edge."

"I cannot think of anyone who is always on edge, not even my mother, but give me time and I will tell you if I remember."

At this, Drifter slightly curtsied and walked off towards a small house separated from the other buildings.

(Drifter)

Collapsing on her bed, Drifter began laughing uncontrollably. All in one day, she had lost her lover and met a rather handsome man who flirted with her seconds after meeting her. The curse of the combination of beauty and secrets baffled her…and she lived in it.

--

As the sun set, Drifter finally left her dwelling to find a certain lookout point in the House of Elrond. She finally reached her destination as she stood looking down at Aragorn and Arwen on the small, hidden bridge. She couldn't resist the urge to sing the song she had made for the two lovers so long ago.

"O môr henion I dhû:  
Ely siriar, êl síla.  
Ai! Aníron Undómiel.  
Tiro! Êl eria e môr.  
I 'lîr en êl luitha 'úren.  
Ai! Aníron...

(From darkness I understand the night:  
dreams flow, a star shines.  
Ah! I desire Evenstar.  
Look! A star rises out of the darkness.  
The song of the star enchants my heart.  
Ah! I desire…)"

Though the woman knew her ringing voice had reached the ears of the couple, she didn't mind that they ignored her as she had done it once before, although Aragorn did not really know who was singing.

"Hello?" a frail voice said behind Drifter.

"Ah," the girl addressed the elderly hobbit just ten feet down the hall, "I suppose you're Bilbo?"

"And you must be…Falathiel. Lord Elrond was kind enough to tell me about you. I may even write a book about you."

"That is very kind, however you couldn't show it to anyone for some time."

"Of course, but tell me, child, who may I further question for my next book of your past, since I will need a freshening of my memory occasionally."

"Well, other than you and Elrond…Gandalf, Miluiel, Frodo, and Arwen in Rivendell, plus a scarce few others around Middle-Earth," the girl replied.

"Arwen is pleasant to chat with and Miluiel is chattery herself, so I will have plenty to go by."

Drifter quietly laughed.

"I am sure that it will be very entertaining. Goodbye for now."

--

An hour later, Drifter was standing in the doorway of the dinner/dance hall, or whatever the elves called it, wearing an ankle-length forest green dress. It was of a soft, comfortable texture and plain in pattern, tight enough not be baggy and show off her figure, but it gracefully hung off her hips. Other features of it were long, flowing sleeves, silver trim on the neckline, which was low enough to show her sun-shy skin, but not so much as to be even remotely revealing, and a black tie around her slim waist. It took great effort to not lift her hand to rest it on the sword that wasn't there, for weapons were not allowed at the feast. It seemed that she was the last arrival as the room was filled with elves, dwarves, hobbits, and Men eating, talking, or dancing.

"So you actually decided to come," Elrond commented, suddenly standing next to her.

"Yes, well," she replied, "it's hard to avoid an invitation offered by you and not be noticed, which is what I am trying to avoid."

"You should eat. There is plenty to go around," the elf offered, almost sounding concerned.

"I'm sorry, but I am not momentarily hungry."

"Is that you or your grief talking, Falathiel?"

"Do not worry for me so much. There is no reason for me to be grieving. I lost him long ago and it is a simple fact that he is not mine anymore."

To Drifter's relief, the elf lord left her to walk to a corner and watch the dancing. The elves were so graceful, a feat she would never fully achieve, though she was perfectly content not being too much like them. Nearly always, elves were either hiding away in their homes dwelling on the world's doom, no offence to Elrond, or leaving Middle-Earth forever. Simple foolishness in Drifter's opinion.

"Would you care to dance, my lady?" Boromir asked her all of sudden.

-I have to stop my mind from wandering off so often! It's going to get me killed one day-

"Sorry to disappoint you, my lord, but dancing was never one of my gifts."

"Neither was it mine…another thing that makes you similar to the woman I knew."

"You talk of her often, Boromir. Clearly, you cared for her very much."

"Not a day has gone by when I haven't thought of her."

"Then why are you flattering me when you could be asking about her?"

The question clearly baffled the Gondorian.

"Do you mind taking a walk with me to check on my horse? I noticed that you enjoy it there."

"Have you been following me?"

"Why would I do such a thing?"

"No reason. I will walk with you."

As she turned to go, Drifter's eye caught two couples on the dance floor: Aragorn with Arwen and her former lover with Miluiel.

Finally reaching the barn, Boromir opened the door for her. Stepping into the shadowed building, the ranger reached up her left sleeve as the man reached for his saddlebags. A split second later, she was holding a dagger at his throat.

"What do you want?" she hissed. "You talk of a former love, and yet, here I am being led to a barn in the middle of the night with you sticking your hand in your saddlebags. What is it? A poisoned dart? Some weapon of death that I have not heard of before?" When he continued slipping the hand deeper into the bag, she threateningly pressed the dagger harder on his throat, causing a drop of blood to appear.

"I believe these belong to you, Falathiel," he said, pulling a small package into view and unwrapping it to reveal four daggers identical to the one Drifter was holding.

"You remembered?" she wondered, leaving the man's throat to caress the weapons.

"After all this time, I didn't think you would look the same."

-If I am going to risk it, I need to trust-

"It is in my blood to live long. I am a quarter elf."

"Well, that answers a few questions," Boromir stated, giving her a kind smile. "I loved you since the day I met you, Falathiel. Tell me now, I cannot wait any longer, will you give me a chance?"

"Boromir," Drifter slowly began, "I recently realized that the fiancé I had when I met you loves another. It was really my fault, for the most part, but I still need to take any relationship slowly."

"Then, maybe?"

"Yes, maybe."

They then walked out of the barn, talking as they went.

After Boromir left her, Drifter headed for the bridge. Gandalf could be seen sitting on the bench there and smoking his pipe.

"I suppose you will be traveling with whoever takes the Ring tomorrow also?" she asked, making her way to the seat.

"Oh, Falathiel!" the old wizard exclaimed. "There you are. I'm glad to see that you're doing well."

"Where did you get that name from, Gandalf?"

"Well," he replied, "after what happened two years following your departure, I knew that you were responsible in some way."

"Than it has suited me in more than one way during all these years."

"Indeed, dear girl."

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	5. The Council

Thanks PainAlter041085 and Lift the Wings for your reviews!

The Council

At dawn of the morning of the Council, Drifter opened the closet to choose her attire for the meeting.

-Nothing fancy. Both elves and Men seem to have a problem with fighting women-

"Ah, perfect," she said, pulling out a dark brown, sleeveless travel dress with dark green trim and a V-neck. She always hated being too picky about her clothing, but situations such as these required such specifications. After pulling on a black vest over the dress, she completed the attire with three of her daggers, two in her belt and the other in her right boot. "I think I look intimidating enough," the woman stated, smirking at her reflection in the mirror. She hated mirrors. They created too much self-consciousness. She went straight to the Meeting Hall, which was empty. It was only an hour after dawn, so the Council would not begin for a couple more hours.

"You're early, I see," Elrond addressed her, stepping into view.

"The Ring must be beyond your wall by tomorrow, else Sauron will send his forces here when he does send them."

"You advise wisely, Falathiel. A trait that was common in your family."

"Hmm…" the girl pondered prior to eagerly changing the subject. "It has been strange being back in Rivendell after all this time. Even though my house still stands and my few friends treat me the same, I know that I do not belong here anymore. In fact, I never did, whatever you may think."

"You have changed…probably more than you know."

"Explain, old friend."

"First, you rarely speak in elvish any more. You used to use it more than the common tongue. Second, you could have passed as an elf years ago. Now, with your ears covered, no one would even take a second glance after designating you as a human. These and many more reasons present themselves as obvious differences."

"I like it that way, Elrond. In the world of Men, I am accepted for what and who I am: a secretive human ranger. I do not give explanations when it is not necessary, and they do not ask."

"You have other choices than exile, Falathiel. You could leave Middle-Earth, all the suffering that you have endured, behind and come with me and the rest of my people. That is still an option, however you may deny it. Another choice would be to return to what you were before coming to Rivendell the first time."

"If I left with you, all my…suffering, as you call it, will have been for nothing. And you know as well as I that I could never be that person again."

--

Following an hour of awkward silence, the others who had been invited to the Council began trickling in. Drifter took the outside seat next to Strider.

Finally, the meeting began as Elrond addressed the people.

"Strangers from distant lands, friends of old, you have been summoned here to answer the threat of Mordor. Middle-Earth stands upon the brink of destruction. None can escape it. You will unite or you will fall. Each race is bound to this fate: this one doom." At last getting to the point, he gestured to the stone pedestal in the middle of the room. "Bring forth the Ring, Frodo."

In response, the young hobbit arose from his seat directly across from Drifter and placed the Ring on the pedestal before returning to his chair. Whispers spread around the room like a flood. After a moment, Boromir arose, making Drifter tense.

-Don't do it Boromir-

"In a dream," he began, "I saw the eastern sky grow dark. But in the West a pale light lingered. A voice was crying: Your doom is near at hand. Isildur's Bane is found."

At this, the Man reached for the Ring, causing both Elrond and Drifter to leap up.

"Boromir!" they called, but were interrupted as Gandalf stood and loudly began chanting,

"Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg gimbatul,  
ash nazg thrakatulûk agh burzum-ishi krimpatul  
(One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them,  
One Ring to bring them all and in the Darkness bind them)."

Hearing the fell words, Drifter returned to her seat and, she noticed, Boromir as well. The booming voice of the wizard caused everyone to become extremely uneasy. For Drifter, it felt like a simple headache, although she knew that the speech of Mordor had given her the same consequences when she heard it the first time.

"Never before has any voice uttered the words of that tongue here in Imladris!" Elrond rebuked Gandalf.

"I do not ask your pardon, Master Elrond," the old wizard replied, his voice rough from the use of the harsh language, "for the Black Speech of Mordor may yet be heard in every corner of the West! The Ring is altogether evil!"

"Ah, it is a gift," Boromir put in, standing once again. "A gift to the foes of Mordor. Why not use this Ring? Long has my father, the Steward of Gondor, kept the forces of Mordor at bay. By the blood or our people are your lands kept safe! Give Gondor the weapon of the enemy. Let us use it against him!"

Drifter was about to counter Boromir, but Strider beat her to it.

"You cannot wield it! None of us can. The One Ring answers to Sauron alone. It has no other master."

"And what would a ranger know of this matter?"

"This is no mere ranger," Legolas, the prince of Mirkwood, threw in as he stood. "He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. You owe him your allegiance."

"Aragorn? This…is Isildur's heir?"

"And heir to the throne of Gondor."

"Havo dad, Legolas (Sit down, Legolas)," Aragorn urged the elf before seating himself.

"Gondor has no king," Boromir muttered. "Gondor needs no king."

"Aragorn is right," Gandalf stated. "We cannot use it."

"You have only one choice," Elrond said. "The Ring must be destroyed."

"Then what are we waiting for?" one of the dwarves grumbled, walking to the pedestal and striking the Ring with his axe. Drifter could see Frodo wince in pain.

"The Ring cannot be destroyed, Gimli, son of Glóin, by any craft that we here possess," Elrond chided. "The Ring was made in the fires of Mount Doom. Only there can it be unmade. I must be taken deep into Mordor and cast back into the fiery chasm from whence it came. One of you must do this."

Moments of dead silence followed until Boromir once again spoke up.

"One does not simply walk into Mordor. Its black gates are guarded by more than just orcs. There is evil there that does not sleep. And the great Eye is ever watchful. It is a barren wasteland, riddled with fire and ash and dust. The very air you breathe is a poisonous fume. Not with ten thousand men could you do this. It is folly!"

As Legolas stood, Drifter spoke.

"What else would you have us do, Boromir son of Denethor? Hide it away? Use it? If we hid it, the Ring would simply seduce and destroy anyone within ten miles of it. And if we used it…you might as well hand it over to Sauron right now and avoid the waste of time! If it is not destroyed, Middle-Earth is doomed to suffer what it went through over a thousand years ago, except Sauron would be even less vulnerable."

"Falathiel, you are correct," Elrond said, "but who do you suppose will take the Ring."

"As I have said before, Lord Elrond, I am too vulnerable to carry it myself. I would, however, help whoever did with all my power."

"And who are you, ranger, to be knowledgeable enough to give such advice," Legolas queried with slight challenge in his voice.

"Legolas," Aragorn defended, "I do not know much of Drifter myself, but I can tell you that her advice is worth heeding."

"If anyone brings the Ring to Mordor, they will be practically handing it to the Enemy on a silver platter," Boromir stated.

"Have you heard nothing Lord Elrond has said?" Legolas argued, turning his attention from Drifter. "The Ring must be destroyed!"

Leaping to his feet, Gimli asked the elf,

"And I suppose you think you're the one to do it?!"

"And if we fail, what then?" the Gondorian added. "What happens when Sauron takes back what is his?"

"I will be dead before I see the Ring in the hands of an elf!"

Chaos occurred as everyone but Frodo stood and began loudly arguing. Knowing what he was thinking, Drifter squeezed through the crowd and knelt beside him.

"You don't have to do it, Frodo. You have already done your part, but if you do, know that I will be there to help," she whispered to him.

"I know…Falathiel, but who else can?" he asked before standing abruptly. "I will take it! I will take it!"

The room silenced as everyone looked at the small hobbit.

"I will take the Ring to Mordor. Though, I do not know the way," he finished.

"I will help you bear this burden, Frodo Baggins," Gandalf offered, put his hands on the halfling's shoulders, "as long as it is yours to bear."

Drifter instantly stood and walked next to Gandalf and behind Frodo.

"You will need someone to watch your back, old man. I can't imagine you walking into Mordor with only one companion."

"A woman!?" Gimli exclaimed. He would have spoken further if Elrond and Gandalf had not sent death-glares his way. Next, Aragorn rose.

"If by my life or death, I can protect you, I will. You have my sword."

"And you have my bow," Legolas stated, joining them.

"And my axe!" Gimli put in.

"You carry the fate of us all, little one," Boromir addressed Frodo. "If this is indeed the will of the Council, then Gondor will see it done."

"Hey!" Sam yelled, coming from behind a bush and running up to Frodo. "Mr. Frodo is not goin' anywhere without me!"

"No indeed, it is hardly possible to separate you even when he is summoned to a secret council and you are not," Elrond noted with obvious humor.

"Wait!" Merry and Pippin called, racing from behind a pillar. "We're coming too!"

"You'd have to send us home tied up in a sack to stop us!" Merry said, followed by Pippin.

"Anyway you need people of intelligence on this sort of mission, quest…thing."

"Well that rules you out, Pip."

"Ten companions…" Elrond pondered. "So be it! You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring!"

"Great!" Pippin declared. "Where are we going?"

Everyone soon departed to make preparations for the journey except for Drifter and Elrond.

"You have many decisions to make ahead of you, Falathiel," the elf said.

"I can already guess what a few of them may be…Elrond, before I leave, there is something I want to do. Arathorn was father-figure for me, and Gilraen a mother-figure…where are their graves? Of all the places I wandered to here, I never went there."

The elf looked slightly amused before becoming serious once more.

"The cemetery is at the back of my House near the wall. You should be able to find your way with relative ease after that."

As Drifter strolled toward her dwelling, she was stopped by Miluiel.

"Well, did you meet him?" she asked, bubbling with joy.

"Who?"

"Oh, quit being vague, Lyn. My fiancé, Legolas!"

"You are worthy of each other and will make a wonderful couple."

"Lyn? Since you will be traveling with him, will you do me a favor?"

"What is it, Miluiel?"

"Could you make sure that he returns safely?"

"Of course! And then, you can have him all to yourself."

The elf-maiden thanked Drifter and ran off, obviously to find Legolas.

-He's not yours anymore, Drifter, let it go-

Thanks for reading! Please, review!


	6. If You Only Knew

Thank you Pissenoffanis and Lift the Wings for your reviews!

If You Only Knew

Evening had fallen upon Rivendell as Drifter knelt next to the grave stone. The statue on top of the tomb was in the shape of a man, while the tomb itself was separated from the others behind a large willow tree. The inscription on it read,

"Arathorn: Herven, ada, mellon, ar' ohtar. Osta en' i' Anoron en' Apanonar. Lotesse i' rina en' ho tella ten'oio. (Husband, father, friend, and warrior. Defender of the Dawn of Men. May the memory of him last forever.)"

"_NO!!!" the woman cried as Arathorn fell from an orc blow. Her desire for revenge fueled her while she cut down the remaining three orcs and ran to her leader lying on the ground._

"…_lyn…" His voice was barely audible when he addressed the girl. "You…have to promise me one thing."_

"_No, you are not giving me final requests and you will not be doing it for many years to come. You still have to see your wife and son." She frantically scrambled for the healing herbs and bandages in her small bag, but Arathorn stopped her, grabbing her wrist._

"_There is nothing you can do for me, child."_

"_You can't die! I need you! Aragorn, Gilraen, and all of Middle-Earth needs you!"_

_Blood stained the man's jerkin from an obviously mortal wound._

"_Child, you…must promise me that you will…see that Aragorn takes Gondor's throne. Whatever happens, Gondor must once again have a king. I know that it will be difficult, but I have faith in you."_

_With tears flowing down her cheeks, the woman replied,_

"_Yes…my lord."_

"_Please, call me something other than 'my lord' or 'sir'. It gets annoying after a while."_

_The woman softly laughed as she held the dying leader's head in her lap and brushed the hair out of his face._

Drifter turned towards the slight rustling in the bushes nearby. With the complete silence, her hearing had become more sensitive, she realized, as Elrond stepped into the cemetery some fifty feet away, probably hoping to have some serious talk to convince her of how foolish she was. When he looked in her direction, the girl snuck out of the area and ran to her house.

--

An hour had passed since Drifter's visit to the cemetery and she was packing the few essentials she would require: a few days emergency rations of food and water was all she needed to pack herself since Bill the pony would be carrying most of their food; plus bandages, needle and thread, and a length of mythril rope. It had been given to her by the dwarves of the Blue Mountains a year before as gift for eliminating a beast which had haunted them for years, although the "beast" had only been three strangely mutated orcs. Her other necessities, herbs, a multi-purpose cloth, and flint, she placed in the belt pouch. As she began repairing a rip in her ranger garb, Aragorn walked in.

"I had to question nearly a dozen people before an elf-maiden…Miluiel, I believe her name was, instantly gave away the fact that you had a house here," he said with a slight smile.

"I'm going to have to have a talk with that girl at some point," Drifter responded, finishing her work and setting the clothing aside.

"You are the strangest woman I have ever met. Both Lord Elrond and Gandalf trust and defend you. Gandalf even sent you to help me without saying anything to anyone but you. Not only that, but so far, I have heard you called by three completely different names. You call yourself Drifter, Elrond calls you Falathiel, and Arwen designates you as Lyn. Who are you? How did you know me? Why is everyone so unclear in talking about you?"

"You ask many questions for a ranger, Aragorn."

"And you display far more knowledge than I would expect."

"Did you think that I was a petite, naïve woman with no knowledge of the world?"

"Oh, no…I just meant…never mind."

"I thought so. Now, if you don't mind, I would like to rest prior to our journey tomorrow," she finalized, trying to get the man out of her dwelling before he asked too many questions.

"As you wish."

When Aragorn was finally out the door, the woman snuck outside and waited until he was out of sight before slipping away to the bridge.

_The woman stood on the bridge, looking out at the water. It was so peaceful. The water did not have to worry about the troubles of the world. It did not feel sadness or pain. It just kept going, completely oblivious to the sorrow surrounding it._

"_My lady?" a soft but manly voice addressed her._

_Turning to the blond-haired, tall elf, the woman replied,_

"_Yes, my lord?" The elf was extremely handsome. His eyes were kind and gentle and he carried himself with great dignity._

"_You look as if you need company…that, and Lord Elrond suggested it."_

"_He has been unnecessarily worried about me since I came here, but I might as well play along. Im Drifter, nan' Arwen ar' Miluiel essa amin Lyn (I am Drifter, but Arwen and Miluiel name me Lyn)."_

"_Im Legolas, Ernil en' Mirkwood (I am Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood)."_

"_Well, if these introductions are supposed to be formal, I am a ranger of the north."_

"This is the second or third time I have seen you here, Falathiel," Gandalf stated, approaching Drifter on the bridge. "You clearly have some sort of attachment to it."

Rolling her eyes, she replied,

"Fine, I admit it, I am having a difficult time dealing with the fact that Legolas is no longer mine."

"Do you still have the ring he gave you?" the wizard asked.

"Don't you think that it would be the last thing I parted with?" the girl answered sadly. "I know that he does not even remember me, but there is a part of me that will not let go…at least not yet. I loved him too long for that."

"I understand…now, consider getting some rest before this venture you've thrown yourself into."

--

The ranger arose just before dawn. There was one place she wanted to visit before leaving. For some reason, she had the feeling that she would never again set foot in Rivendell; of course, it was nothing surprising as she was going on a journey that would most likely end with disaster. Drifter was glad to find that the room in which the shards of Narsil were held was empty. Her boots made no noise as she approached the pedestal. One day, she would keep her promise and see that sword reforged in Aragorn's hand. Then, she would be free to cease her wandering. Presently, the time was approaching when she would have to either keep her promise or die trying. Aragorn was the rightful king and nothing but death was going to stop her in seeing him take the throne.

"Lle ier il i' ere' taur'ohtar, Lyn (You are not the only ranger, Lyn)," Arwen said, approaching Drifter.

"But not all rangers have to bear the burden that I carry. Arwen, what would you have me do? I promised that I would be responsible for putting Aragorn on the throne, not another. Would you have me go back on my word…disobey his last request?!"

"No, Lyn," the elf quietly responded. "But there are those who could help."

"I'm sorry, Arwen, but it is my burden to bear."

"Very well…Now, since I don't want this to end as an argument, I want to wish you luck on your mission…both of them."

"Thank you. I will miss you."

The two friends embraced each other and began walking side by side back towards Drifter's house.

--

(Aragorn)

As he stood next to Gandalf at the south gate waiting for the rest of their party, Aragorn asked the old wizard,

"Gandalf, why are you so secretive about Drifter?"

"What do you know of her so far, Aragorn?"

"I have learned that she is extremely intelligent and capable."

"That is the first thing most people note about her," the wizard said with obvious humor in his voice. "Ah, here she is."

Drifter walked towards them looking almost exactly as she had when Aragorn had met her, except that she was clean. She was wearing a dark maroon, long sleeve dress with a skirt that reached her shins. The thigh-high split on the skirt revealed that she was wearing black leggings underneath it. The dress's torso was tight enough to confirm that she had a particularly slim waist above shapely hips. Her small form was covered when she pulled her full-length maroon cloak around herself. Drifter's hair was tied back with a string of leather, however her ears were oddly still covered.

"Am I that interesting to stare at, my lord?" she asked with a small smile as Aragorn caught himself studying her.

"He is simply not used to your unique ways, Falathiel," Gandalf cheerfully told the girl.

"And what is so unique about me?" she once again questioned. "I am a ranger. I wear ranger clothes, act like a ranger, and do all the usual things a ranger does, which is wander. My weapons are a sword given to me by my deceased trainer and five matching daggers from my mother. I would have a bow and arrows, but there is the slight problem of having lost them some time ago. So, what is so unique about me?"

"Nothing, dear girl." Gandalf seemed almost too amused in talking with the woman. He acted as if she was an old, dear friend.

After the rest of the fellowship had finally arrived, Elrond addressed them. Aragorn's gaze found Arwen.

(Drifter)

"The Ring-bearer is setting out on the Quest of Mount Doom. On you who travel with him no oath nor bond is laid, to go further than you will. Farewell. Hold to your purpose. May the blessings of Elves and Men and all free folk go with you."

"The Fellowship awaits the Ring-bearer," Gandalf said. Frodo went through the gates, closely followed by Gandalf; then Gimli, Pippin, Merry, Legolas, Sam with the pony, and Boromir. Securing the small bag onto her back and over her cloak, Drifter prepared to walk out, but she stopped as she saw Aragorn making eye contact with Arwen. Though they found hardship through their differences in race and other such things, they at least still had their love for each other, with no fear the other being unfaithful. As he stalked off, Drifter found the princess watching her.

"Caer ho varna ten' amin, Lyn (Keep him safe for me, Lyn)," she quietly said.

"As you wish, my lady," Drifter replied.

-Perfect! Now I've promised to protect two of my friends' lovers, one of which I have loved for years myself-

The ranger trotted after Aragorn who had just turned the corner.

--

From their departure until their noon break, they made considerable progress. Drifter had no wish to shun Legolas, but she automatically sat next to Aragorn, watching Boromir teach Merry and Pippin how to fight.

"Move your feet!" Aragorn advised while smoking his pipe. Drifter was using one of her daggers to whittle a chunk of red wood.

"If anyone was to ask for my opinion, which I note they're not," she faintly heard Gimli complaining to Gandalf, "I'd say we were taking the long way round. Gandalf, we could pass through the Mines of Moria. My cousin, Balin, would give us a royal welcome."

The girl felt that something was wrong, but she shook it off after seeing that Aragorn was showing no alarm.

"Aaah!" Pippin cried when Boromir accidently nicked him in the hand.

"Sorry," the Gondorian said, only to have the hobbits playfully attack him and tackle him to the ground. The two rangers stood and walked over to the mock battle.

"Gentlemen, that's enough," Aragorn chided, only to have his legs pulled out from under him by Merry and Pippin. Drifter soon became the target of the hobbits' yanking.

"Pippin! Stop it!" she cried out, although she could not help by laugh. Following a few moments of the ruckus, Boromir helped Drifter stand. She was still slightly giggling as she looked into his crisp brown eyes which seemed to see into her very core. Their little staring contest was interrupted as everyone looked at what appeared to be a wisp of cloud.

"It's moving fast," he noted, "…against the wind."

"Crebain from Dunland!" Legolas called.

"Hide!" Aragorn ordered as everyone ran to erase any evidence of their being there.

"Hurry!" Boromir shouted, pulling Drifter into a bunch of bushes with him. The Crebain surrounded the rocks for a moment before flying off, cawing as they went. Gandalf was the first to come out of hiding.

"Spies of Saruman," he stated. "The passage South is being watched. We must take the Pass of Caradhras." Drifter realized that she was still holding Boromir's hand from when he had pulled her down and quickly released her grip to go grab her bag.

-It's too soon. Drifter, you just lost one lover! At least give it some time before you leap for the first man who woos you!-

An hour later, they were climbing up a steep, snow-covered hill. Drifter noted that their formation had changed slightly since leaving Rivendell, although Boromir, Aragorn, and herself were still at the back. Suddenly, Frodo came rolling towards the rangers, probably having lost his footing. After catching the hobbit and helping him stand, all three realized that the Ring was no longer on Frodo's neck. Drifter relaxed slightly, though, when Boromir picked the Ring up from the ground some fifteen feet up the hill. But, something was wrong.

"Boromir," both rangers warned.

"It is a strange fate we should suffer so much fear and doubt…over so small a thing. Such a little thing," the Gondorian wondered reaching with his other hand to touch it.

"Boromir!" Once again the rangers spoke in unison, which Drifter would have normally found quite funny, though the situation was far from it.

"Give the Ring to Frodo," Aragorn finished with a warning in his voice.

"As you wish," Boromir relented, handing the Ring to Frodo, who quickly snatched it. "…I care not."

Drifter noticed that her hand was on the hilt of her sword and let her sword arm fall back to her side while Boromir resumed climbing.

-It's Boromir! Not some weak-minded commoner! But he's still a Man…oh, he couldn't…but he can-

Drifter's inner battle continued as the group went on with their trek.

(Legolas…By the way, for all readers…I'm not trying to make Legolas look bad or seem like a bad character, but he just seems too nice in the movie…don't worry, it gets better)

They were soon on the mountain…a narrow, snowy ledge of it to be exact. The elf lightly walked on top of the snow while the others ahead of him waded through it. He had temporarily gone to the back of the group. When he looked ahead, the woman's step strangely seemed lighter than the others when she accidently stepped in a spot not already trudged through. Though the wind and snow made everyone else hide in their cloaks, she calmly walked on with her hood down, staring straight ahead. From the moment he saw her upon his arrival in Rivendell, when all he saw of her was her golden hair as she had walked away from the spot in view of the east gate, something had seemed different about Drifter, Falathiel, or whatever her name was. His reverie was broken as Legolas heard a faint voice in the distance.

(Ok, back to Drifter)

The woman felt as if someone was watching her. She turned around, but only found Legolas staring into the blizzard ahead as he passed her up. Still, something told her that the elf had been watching her since the feeling had left instantly after she looked back.

"There is a fell voice on the air!" the elvish prince stated, now from the front.

"It's Saruman!" Gandalf called out just as large chunks of snow, ice, and rock came crashing down the hill, forcing them to take refuge against the cliff wall.

"He's trying to bring down the mountain!" Aragorn put in. "Gandalf, we must turn back!"

"No!" the wizard stubbornly replied before chanting back at the other voice. "Losto Caradhras, sedho, hodo, nuitho i 'ruith! (Sleep, Caradhras, be still, lie still, hold your wrath!)"

-It's not working!-

All of a sudden, an even larger amount of snow and ice crashed down and covered the Fellowship. Drifter instantly struggled for the surface, achieving her goal after a moment of nearly being smothered by the snow. The others began popping up soon after. The hobbits were shivering uncontrollably, so the ranger risked walking over to Frodo and draping part of her cloak over him while rubbing his shoulders to keep him warm. Her feet barely sank through the snow, but she was glad that the others were preoccupied for the most part.

"We must get off the mountain!" Boromir was saying. "Make for the Gap of Rohan and take the west road to my city!"

"The Gap of Rohan takes us too close to Isengard!" Aragorn countered.

"If we cannot pass over the mountain," Gimli haggled, "let us go under it. Let us go through the mines of Moria." Drifter could see fear written all over Gandalf's face.

"Let the Ring-bearer decide," he ordered. Meanwhile, the hobbits' lips were turning blue.

"We cannot stay here!" Boromir warned. "This will be the death of the hobbits!"

"Frodo?"

"We will go through the mines," the halfling stated.

"So be it."

Thanks for reading! Please review!


	7. A Friend Lost

Thanks Pissenoffanis and Lift the Wings for your reviews!

A Friend Lost

"Drifter!" Aragorn called to the girl behind him.

"What is it?" she asked, disrupted from her thoughts.

"Did you think that no one noticed your little trek on top of the snow earlier?" he interrogatingly questioned, getting a surprisingly cocky smile from Drifter.

"The snow was thickly packed from its fall. That's why I was able to walk on top of it."

They suddenly came upon a huge stone wall. Gimli gasped.

"The Walls…of Moria!" he breathed. The group had finally left the snow, although the thick mist was still rather cold. "Dwarf doors are invisible when closed," he went on after a few minutes, clearly over his shock as he tapped the stone with his axe.

"Yes, Gimli," Gandalf confirmed, "their own masters cannot find them, if their secrets are forgotten."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" Legolas sarcastically asked.

At last, they arrived at what appeared to be a hidden door. Drifter scanned the dark lake suspiciously until the moon appeared and the lines of the door lit up.

"It reads," Gandalf interpreted, "The Doors of Durin, Lord of Moria. Speak, friend, and enter."

"What do you suppose that means?" Merry idiotically queried.

"Oh, it's quite simple. If you are a friend, you speak the password, and the doors will open." Drifter had never been to Moria, so she could not help. When she had traveled south from Rivendell the last time, she had taken the Gap of Rohan to Minas Tirith. Therefore, she sat down on a nearby rock, warily glancing at the lake. Meanwhile, Gandalf put his staff against the door, saying,

"Annon Edhellen, edro hi ammen! (Gate of the Elves, open now for me!)" When that did not work, he went on. "Fennas Nogothrim, lasto beth lammen. (Doorway of the Dwarf-folk, listen to the word of my tongue.)"

"Nothing's happening," Pippin pointed out.

"I once knew every spell in all the tongues of Elves…Men…and Orcs."

"What are you going to do, then?"

"Knock your head against these doors, Peregrin Took! And of that does not shatter them, and I am allowed a little peace from foolish questions, I will try to find the opening words."

Some time passed. Drifter took advantage of the situation and leaned back against the rock, closing her eyes. Hearing a rippling in the water nearby, she opened her eyes to see both Aragorn and Boromir staring at a disturbance in the lake.

"What is it?" she asked the Gondorian.

"I don't…" He was interrupted as the gate opened. The Fellowship moved into the dark chamber, with Gandalf's glowing staff as the only light in the gloom. Drifter was near the entrance with the hobbits as Gimli bragged,

"Soon, Master Elf, you will enjoy the fabled hospitality of the Dwarves! Roaring fires, malt beer, red meat off the bone. This, my friend, is the home of my cousin, Balin. And they call it a mine. A mine!"

"This is no mine," Boromir pointed out as everyone noticed the corpses lying about, "it's a tomb!"

"Goblins!" the elf informed them after studying an arrow from a body. Drifter instantly began pulling Merry and Pippin out of the room. When she reached the entrance, a thick tentacle reached out and grabbed Frodo's ankle, dragging him towards the water.

"Strider! Drifter!" he screamed. The woman quickly drew her sword and rushed at the beast which emerged from the lake. She was able to cut a few of its thrashing arms before it grabbed her by the waist. Other than letting out a small squeak of alarm, the ranger was silent as she lashed out at the constricting arm. Finally, her instinct took over.

"Legolas!" she cried out. Drifter soon found herself in the elf's arms and instantly struggled out of his grasp to grab Merry and Pippin in her retreat back to the cave.

"Into the cave! Run!" Aragorn called as everyone ran to the cavern. The weight of the chasing creature caused the entrance to collapse on top of it. Silence followed until Gandalf brought his light back.

"We now have but one choice," the wizard declared. "We must face the long dark of Moria. Be on your guard. There are older and fouler things than Orcs in the deep places of the world. Quietly now. It's a four-day journey to the other side. Let us hope that our presence may go unnoticed."

(Gandalf)

Hours had passed since they had entered Moria, and all was quiet except for the foot-falls of their own group. The wizard was concerned for Falathiel. The girl had been more silent than ever since they embarked on this journey. To him, she had always seemed ready to break down since Arathorn's death. The only reason he had withheld the information from her of Legolas' unfaithfulness, or whatever it could be called, was because he knew that it was one of a very few things which she had used as an anchor to her past. To break the Fellowship's icy silence, he fingered the white-veined wall, saying,

"The wealth of Moria was not in gold…or jewels…but Mythril." At this, he reached his staff out to illuminate the cavern below. "Bilbo had a shirt of Mythril rings that Thorin gave him."

"Oh, that was a kingly gift," the dwarf commented.

"Yes! I never told him, but its worth was greater than the value of the Shire."

After climbing a steep flight of corpse-covered stairs, they came upon a crossroad.

(Frodo)

"I have no memory of this place," the hobbit heard Gandalf ponder. When the wizard sat down to figure out where they were to go next, the rest of the Fellowship followed in suite, except for Drifter, who stared into the abyss below. A few minutes later, a movement caught Frodo's eye somewhere deep in the cave at the same time that Drifter went to sit next to Gandalf. She tried to hide her elvish heritage by covering her ears and other subtle things, but the way she walked and fought seemed almost like she was dancing…not nearly as much as the full-blood elves, but it was still there. The halfling decided to quietly inform Gandalf of the creature's presence.

"There's something down there," he whispered, once sitting by the wizard on his perch.

"It's Gollum," was the unruffled reply.

"Gollum?"

"He's been following us for three days. What amuses me is that Falathiel noticed him and Aragorn didn't."

"He escaped the dungeons of Barad-Dûr!"

"Escaped? Or was set loose? And now the Ring has drawn him here. He will never be rid of his need for it. He hates and loves the Ring, as he hates and loves himself. Sméagol's life is a sad story. Yes, Sméagol he was once called. Before the Ring found him…before it drove him mad."

"It's a pity Bilbo didn't kill him when he had the chance!"

"Pity? It was pity that stayed Bilbo's hand. Many that live deserve death, and some that die deserve life." At that, he glanced at the silent Drifter on the other side of him. "Can you give it to them, Frodo? Do not be too eager to deal out death in judgment. Even the very wise can not see all ends. My heart tells me that Gollum has some part to play yet, for good or ill before this is over. The pity of Bilbo may rule the fate of many."

"I wish the Ring had never come to me. I wish none of this had happened," Frodo mournfully stated.

"So do all who live to see such times, but that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us."

"And we cannot fruitfully regret what has already happened," Drifter suddenly added. "What's done is done. There is no going back."

"There are other forces at work in this world, Frodo," Gandalf went on, "besides the will of evil. Bilbo was meant to find the Ring, in which case you also were meant to have it. And that is an encouraging thought." Suddenly, he looked at one of the doorways. "Oh! It's that way."

"He's remembered!" Merry exclaimed.

"No, but the air doesn't smell so foul down here. If in doubt, Meriadoc, always follow your nose." Frodo found Drifter's hand on his shoulder as they descended the stairs.

(Drifter)

The woman slightly gasped as Gandalf brightened his staff light to reveal the massive expanse of the chamber in front of the group. The light reflected off of the gigantic columns and the Mythril which threaded through them.

"Behold: the great realm and Dwarf city of Dwarrowdelf," the wizard introduced. Suddenly, Gimli cried out and ran to a chamber to the side. "Gimli!"

When Drifter entered the room along with everyone else, she noticed the bodies strewn about the tomb. Gimli was sobbing, something that the ranger did not expect to come from a Dwarf.

"Here lies Balin, son of Fundin, Lord of Moria," Gandalf read. "He is dead then. It's as I feared." He then casually grabbed a dusty old book from the arms of a skeleton.

"We must move on, we cannot linger," Legolas warned.

Meanwhile, Gandalf sat down to read.

"They have taken the bridge…and the second hall. We have barred the gates…but cannot hold them for long. The ground shakes. Drums…drums…in the deep. We cannot get out. A shadow moves in the dark. We cannot get out…" he finished reading as Drifter stood next to the door, staring into the darkness. "They are coming!" A loud crash sounded, causing everyone to look at Pippin in alarm, who was, in turn, staring at the skeleton and chain falling down the nearby well. "Fool of a Took! Throw yourself in next time and rid us of your stupidity!"

All of a sudden, drums began echoing from somewhere. Drifter backed away from the door and drew the two daggers from her belt, ready to throw them at whatever came through. Boromir raced to close the gate with Aragorn aiding him. Once it was shut, he lightly said,

"They have a cave troll."

"Let them come!" Gimli growled from on top of the tomb. "There is one dwarf yet in Moria who still draws breath!"

As their enemies pounded on the barred door, Drifter glanced at Boromir, who was looking right back at her, worry written on his face. It made her realize that he really did care for her.

-When we get out of this, I will give him a chance. I can't go on mourning over Legolas. It's time to move on-

Drifter was desperately longing for her bow while Legolas and Aragorn shot at the foes bashing through the entrance. Soon, however, the orcs burst in, giving the ranger the opportunity to throw her daggers, killing two attackers before she drew her sword. The cave troll smashed through the doorway as she killed three more foes. There was thrill in fighting that she almost enjoyed.

"…seven…eight…" she counted, receiving a confused look from Legolas not far away.

The troll had cornered Sam, to which Drifter quickly responded by pulling the hobbit out of the way, while Aragorn and Boromir grabbed a hold of the creature's chain. Sam began hitting the orcs with his pan.

"I think I'm getting the hang of this," he said just as the troll began attacking the other three hobbits, Frodo in particular. Drifter grabbed a dagger from her boot and threw it into the creature's neck, by to no avail.

"Aragorn!" the hobbit cried out as the troll began dragging him by the leg. She breathed a slight sigh of relief when the other ranger stepped between the Ring-bearer and the troll, but found herself running to Aragorn's side after he was thrown aside by the giant hand. He did not appear injured, just stunned from the impact. Everyone stood still as Frodo was stabbed by the troll with a spear. Drifter ran to the poor halfling, unnoticed by the troll, who was being occupied by the others.

"Frodo," she whispered. Then something caught her eye, a silvery shirt peeking out from underneath his normal clothes. She instantly had an idea of what it was since it looked exactly like the material her rope was made out of, so the ranger settled for killing the orcs advancing upon her. Moments later, their enemies were all dead. While the rest of the Fellowship sorrowfully approached Frodo's limp form, Drifter casually collected and cleaned her daggers.

"Final count: eighteen," she lightly said to herself. "Not bad, considering that it was only a troop of scouts." Merry and Pippin looked at her as if she was crazy until Aragorn turned Frodo over, revealing that the hobbit was perfectly alive.

"You should be dead!" the man wondered. "That spear would have skewered a wild boar."

"I think there's more to this hobbit than meets the eye," Gandalf suggested as Frodo displayed the Mythril shirt.

"Mythril!" Gimli exclaimed. "You are full of surprises, Master Baggins."

"You knew?" Aragorn half stated and half asked, bringing the attention to Drifter, who was calmly replacing the dagger in her boot. "And yet you did not have the heart to tell us? You just let us believe that he was dead?!"

"Aragorn," was the casual reply, "I knew that you would figure it out on your own, so was there any real reason for me to waste my breath?"

The persistent drums once again took up their beating.

"To the Bridge of Khazad-dûm!" the wizard ordered.

The Fellowship then proceeded to race out the back entrance of the room, once again finding themselves in the giant, pillared cavern. They were closely followed and soon surrounded by a countless amount of orcs. With resolve, the group formed a tight circle with the hobbits in the middle. Drifter could tell that Boromir wanted to put her behind him with the halflings, but she was glad that he did not. Suddenly, they heard a deep rumbling from the next chamber along with seeing a fiery light. Even the orcs ran off screeching.

"What is this new devilry?" Boromir quietly queried.

"A Balrog," Gandalf regretfully replied, "a demon of the ancient world. This foe is beyond any of you. Run!" Even though she had never entered the caves of Moria before, Drifter knew what was chasing them. She had never encountered one, but she read about them in a book from Rivendell. "Quickly!" the wizard was insisting from just behind Drifter. They ran through a small corridor, but cut short when Boromir nearly fell over the edge into the precipice beneath due to the missing steps.

"Gandalf!" Aragorn worriedly began.

"Lead them on, Aragorn!" the wizard snapped. "The bridge is near!" When the ranger did not immediately respond, he yelled, "Do as I say! Swords are no more use here." They began running down a broken set of stone stairs. Nothing was holding them up except for the straight continuation of stone ending somewhere in the deep expanse of the place. The Balrog roared behind them as the group reached a large gap in the stairs. Legolas easily leaped to the other side, followed by Gandalf. Next, Boromir made Drifter go. Once on the other side, she again found herself in Legolas' arms, which rather irritated her. After her came Boromir, Merry, Pippin, Sam and a stubborn Gimli. Before Aragorn or Frodo could jump, the Balrog bashed against the other side of the wall, causing a large piece rock to fall and cut the gap between even bigger. A second slab made the section completely separate from its support. Luckily, Aragorn managed to reach them with the hobbit. Continuing their flight, they finally reached the bridge. Drifter, the last one across other than Gandalf, stopped directly on the opposite side after realizing that the wizard was not following her. She saw that he was attempting to make a stand against the fiery black creature which had just appeared.

"You cannot pass!" the old wizard was yelling. "I am the servant of the Secret Fire, wielder of the flame of Anor. The dark fire will not avail you, Flame of Udûn!" The Balrog tried to kill Gandalf with giant sword of flame, but happily to no avail. It then produced a long whip. "Go back to the Shadow," Gandalf then growled. "You…shall not…pass!!" The bridge shook as the creature took a step forward.

"Gandalf, come on!" Drifter yelled. "The bridge won't hold it!" Finally, the bridge collapsed, along with the Balrog. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief until the whip shot up and caught Gandalf's ankle. Drifter ran to his aid as he tried clinging to the broken rock. When they made eye contact, the ranger could tell what the wizard was thinking.

"No…no, Gandalf," she whispered, her hand only an inch away from his, though she knew that he would deny her help.

(Aragorn)

Drifter was kneeling directly in front of Gandalf. He couldn't understand why she wasn't trying to help.

"Fly, you fools!" the wizard demanded prior to letting go of his grip and falling into the abyss.

"No!!" Frodo was screaming as the rest of the Fellowship retreated into the nearby corridor.

"Aragorn!" Boromir called while dragging Frodo along. Aragorn was staring at Drifter. Right as Gandalf had fallen, she had put her head in her hands, probably crying. He had never seen the woman look so helpless, so vulnerable until then. As he broke from his reverie, the girl ran past him, pursued by the orc arrows whizzing by. They soon found themselves in the sunlight on hills of stone. Sam, Merry, and Pippin sat down crying, Gimli was attempting to run back to the cave with Boromir restraining him, and Legolas was looking around, disbelieving of what had just happened. Aragorn began to clean his sword. If he was the group's leader, he would have to be strong for their sakes.

"Legolas," he ordered, "get them up."

"Give them a moment, for pity's sake!" Boromir pleaded.

"By nightfall, these hills will be swarming with orcs! We must reach the woods of Lothlórien. Come, Boromir, Legolas, Gimli, get them up. On your feet, Sam," he insisted before looking around. "Frodo? Frodo!" The hobbit in question was off at a distance with his back to the others. He looked back at hearing his name called. It was then that he realized the lack of Drifter's presence. "Where's Drifter?" Everyone simply looked at him blankly, so he looked turned around to face the direction of Lothlórien. The other ranger could be seen some ways off, staring in the direction of the Golden Wood. Aragorn wondered why he was surprised that she knew its location. Seeing that the rest of the Fellowship was nearly ready to depart, he ran up to Drifter. All evidence of her moment of weakness was completely gone and her boots were slightly wet from the creek in front of her.

"You know where Lorien is?" he queried.

"It was one of the places I traveled to some time ago," was the emotionless answer. Aragorn took the time to study her face. At first glance, she couldn't have been more than twenty, but the worry in her eyes, the seriousness of her face, and the rigidness of her stance made her seem older. Everyone else soon caught up and they began running towards the elf sanctuary.

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	8. Old Friends and Memories

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Old Friends and Memories

(Drifter)

The Fellowship jogged into the Golden Wood as the sun set before slowing to a cautious walk. Everyone but Drifter warily looked around. She, on the other hand, relaxed her normally tense posture as a small smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

"Stay close, young hobbits!" Gimli was warning. "They say that a great sorceress lives in these woods, an elf-witch, of terrible power. All who look upon her, fall under her spell and are never seen again. Well, here is one dwarf she won't ensnare so easily. I have the eyes of a hawk and the ears of a fox." As soon as those words were out of his mouth, the group was surrounded by notched arrows pointed at them.

"The dwarf breathes so loud, we could have shot him in the dark," the lead elf stated, coming out of the shadows. Drifter's smile grew somewhat at the sight of him. During their trek from Moria, she had raised her hood so that it shadowed her face; therefore, Haldir looked at her suspiciously at first as the Fellowship was led towards a dark staircase attached to the nearby tree.

"And who may you be?" he questioned her, pushing the hood back with an arrow. All of the natives within sight range showed different levels of shock at seeing her face. "Lle ier tyr creoso sinome, Minuialwen (You are most welcome here, Minuialwen)," Haldir greeted.

"Haldir, lle cyrn amin delotha tanya essa (you know I hate that name)," she kindly chided.

"I'm sorry…Falathiel." Neither of the friends could hold back any longer.

"It is wonderful to see you, Haldir. My bad day just became bearable!" she stated, embracing him. As she backed away and followed her friends up the tree, the elf's gaze lingered on her a while longer. A few minutes later, Haldir was speaking to Aragorn.

"A, Aragorn in Dúnedain istannen le ammen (Oh, Aragorn of the Dúnedain, you are known to us)."

"So much for the legendary courtesy of the elves!" the dwarf exclaimed. "Speak words we can all understand!"

"We have not had dealings with the dwarves since the dark days."

"And you know what this Dwarf says to that? Ishkhaqwi ai durugnul (I spit upon your grave)!"

"That was not so courteous," Aragorn scolded.

"You bring great evil with you," Haldir said to Frodo. "You can go no further."

"Boe ammen veriad lîn. Andelu i ven (We need your protection. The road is fell)!" Aragorn protested. "Merin le telim (I wish we may come with you)."

Drifter ignored the rest of the conversation, standing next to Boromir.

"I saw more than courtesy in his eyes when he looked at you," the Man stated, jealousy on the edge of his voice.

"Are you jealous?" the woman asked, expressing her assumption. "I have made a decision, Boromir. I will give you your chance," she finished, slipping her hand into his. Boromir then turned to Frodo, who was blankly staring in front of him.

"Gandalf's death was not in vain…nor would he have you give up hope. You carry a heavy burden, Frodo…don't carry the weight of the dead."

"You will follow me," Haldir suddenly said to the group. Drifter noticed that his less than happy appearance was most likely because his elvish ears had picked up her quiet dialogue with Boromir. After walking for some time, they came upon a large clearing with a clump of giant trees in the middle.

"Caras Galadhon," Haldir introduced, "…the heart of Elvendom on earth. Realm of the Lord Celeborn and of Galadriel, Lady of Light."

Drifter remembered the dimly lit forest-city down to even how many steps existed between the ground and the platform where Galadriel would meet them. Nearly all of the Fellowship gaped at the beauty of the elf-queen descending the stairs with Celeborn, who addressed them.

"The Enemy knows you have entered here. What hope you had in secrecy is now gone. Nine there are here, yet eight there were, set out from Rivendell. Tell me, where is Gandalf? For I much desire to speak with him…I can no longer see him from afar."

"Gandalf the Grey did not pass the borders of this land," Galadriel answered for them, looking at Aragorn. "He has fallen into shadow."

"He was taken by both Shadow and Flame," Legolas corrected, "…a Balrog of Morgoth. For we went needlessly into the net of Moria."

"Needless were none of the deeds of Gandalf in life," the lady stated. "We do not yet know his whole purpose." Her eyes then found Gimli. "Do not let the great emptiness of Khazad- dûm fill you heart, Gimli, son of Glóin. For the world has grown full of peril. And in all lands, love is now mingled with grief."

When the lady turned her eyes to Boromir at her last phrase, Drifter felt him squeeze her hand tighter than ever, though she did not flinch. She was knowledgeable of what Galadriel could say through the mind and not all of it was completely encouraging.

"What now becomes of this Fellowship?" Celeborn asked. "Without Gandalf, hope is lost."

"The quest stands upon the edge of a knife," Galadriel advised. "Stray but a little and it will fail to the ruin of all. Yet hope remains while the company is true. Do not let your hearts be troubled. Go now and rest for you are weary with sorrow and much toil. Tonight, you will sleep in peace."

As Drifter turned to go with the others, Galadriel caught her eye, to which she responded by pulling her hand out of Boromir's and giving an encouraging nod to send him on his way.

"Gandalf could not be honored more than if you led a lament," she softly requested.

"I would, in turn, be honored," the ranger responded.

"This way."

Galadriel led Drifter a level further up to an empty platform. From her knowledge of the elves, she knew that, for laments such as these, the soloist would have that area all to his or herself. The quiet gave the singer time to invent a song offhand, which was another tradition of Lorien and how many elvish songs had been created. Once alone, the ranger sat down on the bench in the middle of the floor. Moments later, she once again stood. She enjoyed singing. In fact, she would have probably been famous for her resonating voice if she had not hidden herself away for most of her life. Clearing her throat, she began.

"A Olórin i yaresse…Mentaner i Numeherui Tírien i Rómenóri… (Olórin who once was…Sent by the Lords of the West to guard the Lands of the East…)"

The elves somewhere among the trees caught onto the lament's idea and responded,

"Melme nóren sina núra ala Eäro… (Our love for this land is deeper than the deeps of the sea…)"

Smiling peacefully, Drifter continued,

"…Maiaron i Oiosaila, Manan elye etevanne Nórie i malanelye? (Wisest of all Maiar, What drove you to leave that which you loved?)"

The musical exchange continued for a few more minutes before its end. When Drifter turned to go, she found Galadriel standing at the platform's entrance.

"Your beautiful voice has not changed, Falathiel."

"At least you know that I do not like my elvish name without me telling you."

The lady smiled.

"You do not need me to tell you that most of what I see of your future is filled with sadness and peril."

"The last time I had anything to do with discovering my future, Galadriel, I looked into your mirror and saw what I would not believe. This time, I will not even risk it."

"Very well," she concluded. "Now, I suppose that you wish to bathe."

"Preferably."

--

Half an hour later, the elf-queen escorted Drifter down the stairs to where everyone else was sleeping, except for Legolas, who was replacing the arrows in his quiver. Galadriel kept walking towards where she kept her mirror, soon followed by Frodo. As she sat against the tree to continue carving the piece of wood she had been whittling since before Moria, Legolas approached her.

"Ya ier lle (Who are you)?" he asked. "Haldir, Lord Celeborn, Lady Galadriel, they all trust you. Gandalf acted as if you were his daughter, if nothing else. Lord Elrond acts as if he owes you a great debt. Ya ier lle (Who are you)?"

Drifter sighed at the poor prince's confusion, pausing in her work.

"Legolas," she began, "few people know who I am. Even Boromir does not know my real name. All will find out when the time comes. I'm surprised that you don't at least remember my real name."

The prince gave up and walked away, leaving Drifter to blow the loose shavings from her hidden artwork.

--

The next morning, the Fellowship was lined up, prepared to leave. Drifter bowed her head to the young elf-maiden clipping the broach on her new elvish cloak.

"Never before have we clad strangers in the garb of our own people," Celeborn stated. "May these cloaks help shield you from unfriendly eyes."

Galadriel then began giving each of the group a gift. Drifter was the last to be faced by the lady.

"I believe this belongs to you, Falathiel," she said, offering a mythril headpiece to the ranger. The silver chain was inset by a white jewel which reflected the light.

"It was my mother's," the girl whispered, fingering the gem.

"Yes, it was brought here after she died so that it could one day be passed onto you."

"Thank you."

"Go with the blessings of all elves."

"_Edro i' ando (Open the gate)!" the exhausted woman yelled as she approached the entrance of Rivendell, dragging Arathorn's lifeless body on a makeshift sled behind her. She collapsed as soon as she had entered the city. _

"_Lye shaesi eisteraer (We were ambushed)."_

"_Ier lle i' ere' er hyarya (Are you the only one left)?" one of the elves asked, to which the woman did not respond. Instead, she looked away, trying to contain her sorrow._

"_Vaeraes i' ba ar' vaedasi Arathorn ten' shesor, Maidhion (Respect the dead and prepare Arathorn for burial, Maidhion)," Elrond scolded, approaching the girl, who was still sitting on the ground. "Lyn, I can think of no way to break this to you gently and not add more weight to your heart, but…your mother died just three days ago. I am sorry."_

"_No," she muttered. "No!"_

_At this, Lyn ran to the small forest and knelt, crying, on the ground near the river._

As everyone headed for the boats, Drifter was confronted by Haldir.

"Did you intend to once again leave without saying goodbye?" he asked.

"Why would you think such a thing, Haldir?"

"I thought you could use this," he stated, handing her a light elvish bow and a quiver full of arrows.

"I left these here years ago!" she exclaimed, gazing at her cherished weapon. "How did you…"

"I found it in your room after you left. The other reason why I came is because I wanted to tell you…"

The ranger, in turn, interrupted.

"Haldir, right now, I am just getting over losing my former fiancé and possibly falling in love with someone else."

"But," the elf almost shyly said, "if you change your mind, would consider it?"

"No offence to you, Haldir, but I hope that nothing happens to make me change my mind. My heart can barely handle one present lover and a past."

"I understand," the elf whispered as Drifter sat in the front of the canoe with Boromir, Merry, and Pippin. The hobbits were small enough to both fit in the middle and the woman was slightly lighter than a normal human due to her heritage.

The Fellowship paddled down the river, peaceful from their reprieve in Lorien.

--

That night, Drifter sat next to Frodo, who seemed more nervous than usual. She ignored the conversations around her, until something Boromir was saying to Aragorn caught her ear.

"Minas Tirith is the safer road. You know it. From there, we can regroup…strike out for Mordor from a place of strength."

"There is no strength in Gondor that can avail us," Aragorn argued.

"You were quick enough to trust the elves," the other man snapped as Drifter approached the bickering duo. "Have you so little faith in your own people? Yes, there is weakness. There is frailty. But, there is courage also, and honor to be found in Men. But you will not see that. You are afraid!" he accused, grabbing Aragorn. "All your life, you have hidden in the shadows! Scared of who you are, of what you are."

"I will not lead the Ring within a hundred leagues of your city," the ranger defended before walking away.

"Boromir," Drifter softly addressed the Man, "you do realize that by judging Aragorn for his lifestyle, you also judge mine?"

"I'm sorry, Falathiel," he said, gently caressing her cheek. "I am just angry because he won't listen to my advice."

"Boromir, I agree with him. Having the Ring even somewhat close to Men is a danger, let alone to have it inside a city filled with them. As much as we would like to deny it, Men are susceptible to the influence of the Ring."

"You agree with him?" the Gondorian asked vehemently, pulling his hand away from her face and stalking away to the fire, leaving Drifter standing at the shore.

-It seems that everything I ever did was for nothing-

_The maiden-warrior lay in the bushes, waiting for her prey. She had been tracking this group of elves for four days on their route to Lothorien and now was her chance for revenge. Crouching even lower as the party of eight began going by on the path, the woman drew her bow tight and aimed for the leader's heart. The arrow hit its mark, causing the other elves to frantically look around. Stepping out of her hiding place, Lyn drew her sword._

"_This is rather amusing. The advisers who threw me out of my home are now afraid of me. How ironic."_

_At this, she began attacking the elves with all of her strength. The untrained advisers were down in minutes, soon followed by their escorts. Lyn wiped her sword on the grass, although it did not do her much good as she was covered in blood. Sighing, she said to herself,_

"_I have had my revenge. Now, I will become what I am doomed to be: a drifter." _

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	9. A Broken Heart

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A Broken Heart

(Frodo)

Most of the next day was uneventful, although the Ring-bearer kept side-glancing Boromir. One of these times, his eyes fell on Drifter. She looked more pensive than ever and kept glimpsing at the Man behind her. The casual observer would not have noticed the fleeting look of worry on her face. He suddenly felt Aragorn's hand on his shoulder as he pointed to the two giant statues ahead.

"Frodo, the Argonath! Long have I desired to look upon the kings of old. My kin."

A soft voice began a song which was foreign to the hobbit's ears. He looked around for a few seconds before he realized that the music was coming from the woman. Even though all of the Fellowship was staring at her, she kept paddling, deep in thought.

"Et Eärello Endorenna utúlien. Sinome maruvan ar Hildinyar tenn' Ambar-metta (Out of the Great Sea to Middle-earth I am come. In this place I will abide, and my heirs, unto the ending of the world)…"

...apparently pensive and content.

"How do you know that song?" Aragorn queried, moving his canoe closer to the one Drifter was in.

"I learned it from my trainer when I was quite young. I'm surprised that I even remember it," was the emotionless reply.

Around noon, they reached the falls and stopped on the western side.

"We cross the lake at nightfall," Aragorn ordered. "Hide the boats and continue on foot. We approach Mordor from the north."

(Drifter)

"Oh, yes?" Gimli asked the ranger Man. "It's just a simple matter of finding our way through Emyn Muil? An impassable labyrinth of razor sharp rocks! And after that, it gets even better!"

Drifter ignored the rest of the dwarf's rant and slipped off into the woods, taking the direction Boromir had gone. She was careful to not step on any twigs as she followed his trail. The ranger knelt on the ground, hearing Boromir's voice on the other side of the small hill.

"We're all afraid, Frodo. But to let that fear drive us to destroy what hope we have…don't you see, that is madness?"

"There is no other way!" Frodo argued.

"I ask only for the strength to defend my people!" the Man barked, throwing the wood he had been gathering onto the ground. Drifter put a hand on her sword. She had no intention whatsoever to harm Boromir, but she needed to be prepared to defend the hobbit if it came down to it. "If you would but lend me the Ring…"

"No," the halfling said, taking a step back.

"Why do you recoil? I am no thief."

"You are not yourself."

"What chance do you think you have? They will find you! They will take the Ring and you will beg for death before the end!"

Judging that Boromir was taking it too far, she stood. When Frodo saw her, he began walking towards her, but was followed by Boromir.

"You fool! It is not yours, save by unhappy chance."

"Boromir," Drifter warned, steadily approaching him. By the time she reached him and grabbed his arm, he was already tackling Frodo, yelling,

"It could have been mine! It should be mine! Give it to me! Give it to me! Give me the Ring!"

"Boromir!" the girl yelled again, only to be hurled back onto the leaf-carpeted ground, which knocked the breath out of her slightly. When she sat up, Frodo had disappeared and Boromir was frantically looking around, still in his rage.

"I see your mind," he growled. "You will take the Ring to Sauron! You will betray us! You'll go to your death and the death of us all! Curse you! Curse you! And all the halflings!" At that, he tripped on a root and fell flat on his face, while Drifter stood, warily.

"Frodo?" he was whispering. "Frodo?...what have I done?...please…Frodo! Frodo, I'm sorry! Frodo!"

"Boromir!" the woman said, running to him and kneeling beside him as he collapsed.

"Falathiel," he sobbed, crying into her shoulder. "What have I done?"

"It's alright, Boromir, he's gone. The Ring is out of our reach. There is nothing you can do to take it back. It's done." She held Boromir as he gained control of his emotions. His deep red hair glistened in the light. "Boromir," she continued, "you should know that Falathiel is not my real name."

"I know. My father told me who you are."

"I should have never told that old man my identity, thinking that he would grant me sanctuary any longer." Suddenly, Drifter heard a noise somewhere in the trees. "Uruk-Hai!" she hissed, rising and drawing her sword.

"Hey! Over here!" they heard the faint sound of hobbits calling. The couple began racing in the direction of the voices.

"There's another thing you should know," Drifter stated as she ran side by side with Boromir.

"What is it?"

"I love you too." Instead of joy, worry clouded the Man's face.

"What about what I did earlier?"

"The Ring was in control of you. You were not responsible for what you did."

"But you did not fall to its influence, I did."

"It does not matter, tia mela (my love)." Boromir smiled at the elvish title and quickly kissed Drifter on the cheek before drawing his own sword. They soon came over a hill where they were able to see Merry and Pippin about to be attacked by a hoard of Uruks. Drifter raised her sword and cut down the first enemy she encountered, while Boromir went a few feet further to intercept a blow meant for the hobbits. Minutes went by as the girl danced among her foes, killing and counting with each movement. When she hit twelve, the Gondorian blew his horn, calling for the aid of their friends. The orcs just kept coming in an endless flow, keeping the ranger occupied while Boromir blew the horn once more before continuing the fight, calling out to the hobbits,

"Run! Run!"

Suddenly, Boromir fell to his knees, an arrow in his left shoulder.

"Boromir!" she screamed, cutting down the oncoming Uruks suddenly between them. When the girl once again caught sight of the Man, he was going on with the fight and the wound did not appear to be too bad. She contented herself with killing her foes nearby until she heard Boromir gasp. Drifter was only a few feet away from the determined Gondorian as a third projectile buried itself in his chest. Her pause of shock was just enough for one of the Uruks to hit her in her upper left arm with one of their strange weapons. Ignoring the pain while the rest of the orcs went on by, Drifter looked up the hill to discover where the arrows had come from: a large Uruk-Hai. The creature was stalking towards Boromir from his perch, aiming a fourth arrow. Frantically looking between the foe and his target, the woman ran a few feet forward, knocking a gasping Boromir over as the arrow lodged itself in her side. She landed with thump and quickly rolled onto her back to see the Uruk standing in front of Boromir, who had somehow managed to once again kneel, with an arrow prepared to be fired. Drifter struggled to rise, but the pain from her side had not subsided. All of sudden, Aragorn collided with the Uruk, causing the arrow to fly off harmlessly.

Unable to aid the other ranger in his fight, Drifter crawled to Boromir, who was lying on his back. His face was deathly pale, a sign which the girl was familiar with as she lifted the warrior's head to rest on her lap and brushed away the hair in his face. She had done exactly the same when Arathorn was dying. The woman couldn't cry, however. She had cried twice since her return to Rivendell. Now, the tears would not come. She felt numb, indifferent and broken at the same time. Aragorn finally killed the Uruk, ran over to Boromir, and knelt beside him.

"They took the little ones," Boromir forced out, grabbing the ranger's shoulder.

"Be still," the other Man commanded.

"Frodo! Where is Frodo?"

As Boromir lifted his head, Drifter slipped away and began cleaning her sword. She had the same uncaring, dead feeling she had experienced while killing Elrond's advisors all those years ago…she hated it.

"I let Frodo go."

"Then you did what I could not. I tried to take the Ring from him. Falathiel tried to stop me."

"The Ring is beyond our reach now."

"Forgive me. I did not see it. I have failed you all."

"No, Boromir, you fought bravely! You have kept your honor." At that, Aragorn reached for the arrows to pull them out.

"Leave it! It is over. The world of men will fall, and all will come to darkness…and my city to ruin."

"I do not know what strength is in my blood, but I swear to you I will not let the White City fall…nor our people fail!"

"Our people? Our people. I would have followed you, my Brother…my Captain…My King!"

After Aragorn placed Boromir's sword in his hand, the Man died. Drifter was in denial. Four of the men she had loved in life were gone in one way or another: Arathorn, Legolas, Gandalf, and Boromir.

"Be at peace, son of Gondor," Aragorn was whispering before he stood, a single tear running down his cheek. Legolas and Gimli finally arrived; however, they stopped short upon seeing Boromir. "They will look for his coming from the White Tower. But he will not return."

(Aragorn)

The future king's eyes then settled on Drifter, who was leaning on a nearby tree for support, an arrow protruding from her side. She looked distant, as if not aware of their presence or her injury. Walking closer to the woman, he noted that her shoulder was also bleeding from a gash, although he could not tell how deep it was. It was not until the others approached her as well that she finally looked at them. As Aragorn made eye contact with her, he saw that her blue eyes had an icy sheen to them, whether from sorrow or apathy he could not tell.

"Drifter?" Legolas addressed her. The girl snapped her head to glare at the elf, who took a step back.

"Will you let us help you?" Aragorn cautiously asked, to which the girl responded by slowly nodding her head. A few minutes passed as the ranger removed the arrow, cleaned the wounds, and bound them with bandages from Drifter's bag still on her back. Finally, they were able to move Boromir's body to the shore and into one of the remaining canoes, for Frodo and Sam had taken the third one to cross the river. Nearly the whole time, Drifter stared blankly at river, the reflecting light dancing on her golden locks.

"Hurry!" Legolas yelled, beginning to push the last boat into the water as Boromir's craft disappeared over the waterfall. "Frodo and Sam have reached the eastern shore." When Aragorn made no comment, the elf continued, "You mean not to follow them?"

"Frodo's fate is no longer in our hands."

"Then it has all been in vain!" Gimli exclaimed despairingly. "The Fellowship has failed."

"Not if we hold true to each other," the ranger countered. "We will not abandon Merry and Pippin to torment and death. Not while we have strength left. Leave all that can be spared behind. We travel light. Let's hunt some orc!" His gaze once again found Drifter. She had donned a long, dark blue vest from her bag along with the cloak and was checking her weapons, but clearly favoring her left arm. "Are you sure that you're up for this?" he asked her.

When she turned to him, Aragorn noticed that she looked more determined and impassive than ever.

"My legs are fine, Aragorn," she replied. "My other injuries will take some time to heal, but they can do that on the move."

"Then, shall we?"

"Yes!" the dwarf confirmed.

(Drifter)

The woman took one last look at the river before running after Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli into the forest. One way or another, she would have her revenge for Boromir.

Thanks for reading! I know…this one was REALLY short, but I don't like ending one movie and beginning another in one chapter. The Two Towers will begin on the next chapter. I hope you've enjoyed it so far. Please review!


	10. Return

Thanks Lift the Wings, Pissenoffanis, Rushingriver, Nelarun, and sparkalie for your reviews!

Author's Note: I know, I am so sorry that I killed off Boromir, but it was a necessary evil.

Return

Through the next three days, the group chased after the Uruks non-stop, although the creatures always managed to stay far ahead. Drifter remained at the back with Gimli, stopping when he would pause to breathe and complain every once in a while chatting with the dwarf. Even with her experience, the ranger had never known that one of his kind could be so sweet and humorous. The other two runners would occasionally ask the woman if her wounds were the reason she stayed by Gimli, but each time, she casually denied it. Drifter's injuries actually were keeping her behind; however, with her herbs, they were progressively healing faster than without the plant she kept with her at all times. Unfortunately, she did not possess the elvish trait of extremely quick healing. By the third day in the late morning, they were nearing territory which Drifter was familiar with: Rohan.

"Come on, Gimli!" Legolas called, purposefully not urging their female companion, which, in turn, caused her to growl lightly as the dwarf said,

"Three days' and nights' pursuit. No food. No rest. And no sign of our quarry but what bare rock can tell."

Over the next hour, Drifter remained silent, the only prominent sound being Gimli's heavy footfalls. While they were navigating their way through a rock formation, her newfound friend tripped and rolled down the rest of the hill they were on, landing on the path below. The girl almost smiled as she helped him stand.

"Come, Gimli!" the elf called the second time in fifteen minutes. "We are gaining on them!"

"I am wasted on cross-country!" Gimli growled. "We dwarves are natural sprinters! Very dangerous over short distances!"

Drifter quickened her pace as the ground beneath her feet triggered memories of one of the few times she lived in peace, without having to worry about anyone throwing her out or trying to kill her. That and she had recognized an imprint in the mud of a Lorien leaf clip from a cloak. Aragorn must have picked it up. She nearly ran into Aragorn as he stopped at an overlook of a field.

"Rohan," he stated. "Home of the horse-lords. There is something strange at work here. Some evil gives speed to these creatures, sets its will against us."

"There was evil lurking here when I left," Drifter said in turn, stationing herself next to the Man, mentally thanking him for stopping, "but not like this. Now, it's as if evil has infiltrated every blade of grass, every stone."

"Legolas," Aragorn called to the elf, who had run ahead, "what do your elf-eyes see?"

"The Uruks turn northeast," was the answer. Drifter quickly eliminated her jealousy of Legolas' elvish sight. "They're taking the hobbits to Isengard!"

"Saruman," the Man whispered.

As they continued their chase, Drifter felt that her wounds were healing better than she thought, for they did not pain her when she ran almost the same pace as Aragorn.

"Keep breathing!" Gimli panted from behind them. "That's the key! Breathe! Wonderful! Now, even the woman outruns me!"

"They run as if the very whips of their masters were behind them," Legolas noted.

--

By dawn the next day, the four companions were still running without having seen more than the enemies' trail. Just as Drifter noticed the horizon's color, the elf pointed out,

"The red sun rises. Blood has been spilled this night."

They continued the race until noon, when the sound of galloping horses came near. Aragorn pointed to a boulder for him and his friends to hide behind, although Drifter only just stood behind the rock. She was the first to come out of hiding after the other ranger as the riders passed and Aragorn yelled,

"Riders of Rohan, what news from the Mark?"

(Yay! Eomer)

Hearing a strange voice calling from behind his company, Eomer lifted his spear to signal them to turn. His loyal followers quickly had the four strangers surrounded with a tight circle of spears.

"What business does an elf, a man, a dwarf, and a…woman have in the Riddermark?" he addressed them. "Speak quickly!"

"Give me your name, Horsemaster, and I shall give you mine," the dwarf offered.

Getting off his mount, Eomer said to cocky newcomer,

"I would cut off you head, dwarf, if it stood but a little higher from the ground."

The elf suddenly had a bow in his hands and was pointing an arrow in Eomer's face.

"You would die before you stroke fell!" he yelled, to which the riders responded by lifting their spears. Oddly the man and woman did not tense whatsoever before the former made the elf lower his weapon.

"I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn," he stated prior to pointing at his companions. "This is Gimli, son of Glóin, Legolas of the Woodland realm, and Drifter, a Ranger of the North. We are friends of Rohan and of Théoden, your king."

"Théoden no longer recognizes friend from foe," Eomer replied, removing his helmet and causing his company to raise their spears harmlessly. "Not even his own kin. Saruman has poisoned the mind of the king and claimed lordship over these lands. My company are those loyal to Rohan. And for that, we are banished. The White Wizard is cunning. He walks here and there, they say, as an old man, hooded and cloaked. And everywhere his spies slip past our nets."

"We are no spies. We track a party of Uruk-hai westward across the plain. They've taken two of our friends captive."

"The Uruks are destroyed. We slaughter them during the night." When his eyes momentarily settled on the woman, Drifter, she stared right back, challengingly. It slightly surprised Eomer, since most people would have averted their eyes at seeing his piercing stare.

"But there were two hobbits," Gimli said. "Did you see two hobbits with them?"

"They would be small, only children to your eyes," Aragorn finished.

"We left none alive," Eomer replied, once again looking at Drifter, who parted her slightly dry, but attractive lips in shock over what he had revealed. "We piled the carcasses and burned them." Drifter followed his pointing finger to gaze at the smoke in the distance.

"Dead?" Gimli whispered.

"I am sorry."

Whistling, Eomer called two of the horses forward.

"Hasufel! Arod! May these horses bear you to better fortune than their former masters. Farewell." He was about to help Drifter mount one of the horses, but she had already hopped into the saddle behind Aragorn. There was something strangely familiar about her, and yet, he knew that he had never before seen her face. "Look for your friends," he continued. "But do not trust to hope, it has forsaken these lands. We ride north!"

(Drifter)

The woman was utterly annoyed as Aragorn spurred the horse on towards the smoke. Couldn't she spend at least some time honoring Boromir before another man started fawning over her? Aside from that, the Riders of Rohan were definitely less courteous than when she had last arrived…maybe.

"_Edoras! Open your doors, for I am a traveler and a friend in need of sanctuary!"_

_The gates of the city opened instantly after the bedraggled woman's call, although, the moment she set foot in the city, approximately ten spears were pointing at her hidden face._

"_Show your face, stranger!" one of the guards called, to which the newcomer complied, swiping the hood of her cloak back off of her dirty, matted hair._

"_I wish to request a place of rest for however long your king is willing to keep me," she said. "I have come from Gondor."_

"_How long ago did you leave there, for we have heard news of strangers in Gondor?"_

"_Four days ago."_

"_Four days?! That is no small feat, my lady! Please, come. The king will wish to see you; however, he will not return for perhaps a day as he is making his yearly rounds of the realm."_

"_Thank you, sir."_

_A day later, the woman was standing in front of the door of the palace, her golden hair blowing in the wind. The king and his men had returned. She had been told to wait for him. The people of Rohan had been extremely hospitable, giving her a bath, food, clothes…definitely more than what she received her last day at the White City, which was very nearly a kick out the door, although she had done nothing wrong except care for the Steward's young sons._

"_My lady?" a man queried, standing beside her. _

"_Ah, good sir, I have been waiting for you."_

"_How did you...?"_

"_You were leading the party coming from the plains earlier. Clearly, you are Théoden...am I wrong?"_

"_No, you are quite correct. I am told that you wish to stay some time in my House. I have also been told that you are rather secretive. Therefore, for the sake of my people, I must know who you are."_

"_It is a very long story. Are sure you're ready for it?"_

"_I am sure."_

"_Very well. I was and am a Ranger of the North, though I have been wandering throughout Middle-Earth for some time. In the places I have gone, I am called Drifter, Falathiel, or Lyn, though my real name is…"_

As they approached the burning mound, Drifter leaped off of the horse before Aragorn barely had time to slow down and ran to stand in front of the pile. She looked around the area while the other three dug through the heap.

"It's one of their wee belts," Gimli pointed out, picking a crisp piece of leather from the mingled body parts.

"Hiro hyn hîdh… ab 'wanath... (May they find peace in death)" Legolas whispered as Aragorn kicked a helmet and fell to his knees, yelling.

(Aragorn)

The man fingered the soil.

"A hobbit lay here, and the other. They crawled." He began following the trail to two cut ropes on the ground. "Their hands were bound…their bonds were cut. They ran over here…they were followed. The tracks lead away from the battle…and into Fangorn Forest." Aragorn was surprised to see that Drifter was already staring at the forest in front of them.

"Fangorn…" Gimli breathed. "What madness drove them in there?"

"Fear drove them in there, Gimli, and desire for sanctuary," the girl pointed out, about to pass into the trees, but Legolas stopped her.

"Are you mad? Haven't you heard the stories of Fangorn?"

Drifter glared at him as though she wanted to burn his eyes out.

"And here I was thinking that you had begun to trust me," she said, clearly suppressing some other statement behind clenched teeth. "I have been here before, Legolas, and I have gone into those woods before. Do I look like a ghost to you? Then don't look at me that way! You forget that you know nothing about me, you scatterbrained goat!" Leaving the prince stunned, she walked straight into the forest.

"Consider trying not to offend her, Legolas," Aragorn kindly advised prior to following the woman.

Some time after they entered the wood, Gimli fingered a liquid on a nearby bush and tasted it. Spitting it out, he swore,

"Orc blood."

Drifter was some ten feet ahead, staring into the brush with her arms crossed, silent. She was probably still fuming over Legolas' assumption.

"These are strange tracks," Aragorn noted, kneeling to study the imprint on the ground.

"The air is so close in here," the dwarf worried.

"This forest is old…very old," Legolas stated. "Full of memory…and anger. The trees are speaking to each other!"

As the woods loudly groaned, Aragorn caught sight of Gimli's raised weapon.

"Gimli, lower your axe."

"Oh."

"They have feelings my friend. The elves began it; waking up the trees, teaching them to speak," Legolas said.

"Talking trees, what do trees have to talk about? Except the consistency of squirrel dropping?"

Suddenly, the elf ran to stand next to Drifter. Aragorn was almost afraid that she was going to hit him.

"Aragorn, nad no ennas (something's out there)!"

"Man cenich (What do you see)?" the Man queried.

"The White Wizard approaches."

"Do not let him speak. He will put a spell on us. We must be quick." He knew that Drifter was slightly reckless, but he unintentionally thought of how crazy she could be when she did not draw any of her weapons. With a yell, Aragorn turned around, sword drawn. Somehow, the man in the white light was able to make his sword red hot as he cast aside the others' weapons.

"You are tracking the footsteps of two young hobbits," the strange man questioned.

"Where are they?"

"They passed this way the day before yesterday. They met someone they did not expect. Does that comfort you?"

"Who are you? Show yourself!" The man complied by walking forward and dimming the light. Everyone but Drifter, oddly, gaped in shock as Gandalf was standing before them. "It cannot be."

"Forgive me!" Legolas whispered to the wizard. "I mistook you for Saruman."

"I am Saruman. Or rather, Saruman as he should have been," Gandalf corrected.

"You fell?!" Aragorn exclaimed.

"Through fire and water. From the lowest dungeon to the highest peak, I fought with the Balrog of Morgoth. Until at last, I threw down my enemy and smote his ruin upon the mountainside. Darkness took me. And I strayed out of thought and time. Stars wheeled overhead and every day was as long as a life-age of the earth. But it was not the end. I felt life in me again. I've been sent back until my task is done."

"Gandalf!"

"Gandalf? Yes…that was what they used to call me: Gandalf the Grey. That was my name."

"Gandalf!" Gimli happily exclaimed.

"I am Gandalf the White…and I come back to you now at the turn of the tide."

(Drifter)

As the wizard led them out of the woods, Legolas whispered to Drifter,

"You knew?"

"I suspected, but yes, in a manner, I knew."

"And yet, you did not tell us."

"Again, you judge me for what I do or do not say, Legolas. Like I just said, I suspected. In Moria, this was the main reason why I did not grab his hand. Gandalf told me of the possibility long ago. Do not think that it was an easy choice for me." When Legolas continued to stare at her, she gave an exasperated sigh. "And to think that I used to…" She cut herself off and quickened her pace to walk next to Gandalf.

--

"One stage of your journey is over, another begins," Gandalf stated as they neared exit of the forest. "We must ride to Edoras with all speed."

"Edoras?" Gimli complained. "That is no short distance!"

"We hear of trouble in Rohan. It goes ill with the king," Aragorn told the wizard.

"Yes, and it will not be easily cured."

"Then we have run all this way for nothing?" the dwarf continued. "Are we to leave those poor hobbits here in this horrid, dark, dank, tree-infested…" He stopped in mid-sentence as the trees once again growled. "I mean, charming, quite charming forest."

"It was more than mere chance that brought Merry and Pippin to Fangorn. A great power has been sleeping here for many long years. The coming of Merry and Pippin will be like the falling of small stones that starts an avalanche in the mountains.

"In one thing you have not changed, dear friend," Aragorn whispered to Gandalf.

"Hmm?"

"You still speak in riddles."

"A thing is about to happen that has not happened since the Elder Days. The ents are going to wake up…and find that they are strong."

"Strong?!" Gimli once again exclaimed. "Oh, that's good."

"So stop your fretting, Master Dwarf. Merry and Pippin are quite safe. In fact, they are far safer than you are about to be."

"This new Gandalf's more grumpy than the old one."

(Sorry, but I'm going to switch Aragorn for just a second)

Aragorn heard a low, yet musical laugh. He wasn't sure where it came from, but he suspected Drifter as she patted Gimli on the shoulder and trotted towards the field, a hint of smile tugging at her lips. Finally outside of the forest, Gandalf stood erect and whistled. Soon, an elegant white horse appeared, racing towards them.

"That is one of the Mearas," Legolas thought out loud, "unless my eyes are cheated by some spell."

As the animal stopped in front of Gandalf, the wizard introduced,

"Shadowfax. He's the lord of all horses and he's been my friend through many dangers."

"Hello, old friend," the woman murmured, approaching the beautiful creature and taking a sugar-cube from her belt pouch. "Yes, I have something for you."

"It seems that he has not forgotten you, Falathiel. Would you like to ride him with me…with his consent, of course."

"I would like nothing better," was the answer as a forced smile appeared on the girl's face.

The conversation caused Aragorn to furrow his eyebrows. Each time he thought he knew enough about Drifter to satisfy his curiosity, she came up with some other way to confuse him.

--

(Ok, back to Drifter)

Night came upon Middle-Earth as the group set up camp. Drifter stood beside Aragorn as Gandalf approached him on his other side.

"The veiling shadow that glowers in the east takes shape," the wizard said. "Sauron will suffer no rival. From the summit of Barad-dûr, his Eye watches ceaselessly. But he is not so mighty yet that he is above fear. Doubt ever gnaws at him. The rumor has reached him. The heir of Númenor still lives. Sauron fears you, Aragorn. He fears what you may become. And so he'll strike hard and fast at the world of Men. He will use his puppet, Saruman, to destroy Rohan. War is coming. Rohan must defend itself, and therein lies our first challenge for Rohan is weak and ready to fall. The king's mind is enslaved, it's an old device of Saruman's. His hold over King Théoden is now very strong. Sauron and Saruman are tightening the noose. But for all their cunning we have one advantage. The Ring remains hidden. And that we should seek to destroy it has not yet entered their darkest dreams. And so the weapon of the enemy is moving towards Mordor in the hands of a Hobbit. Each day brings it closer to the fires of Mount Doom. We must trust now in Frodo. Everything depends upon speed and the secrecy of his quest. But, you must be careful, Aragorn, for Sauron may yet try to use those you care for against you…as well as those who care for you more than almost anything in the shadows. The Dawn of Men is near."

"Like I said earlier, Gandalf, you still speak in riddles," Aragorn joked before his face once more became serious.

"Do not regret your decision to leave him," the old man continued. "Frodo must finish this task alone."

"He's not alone. Sam went with him."

"Did he? Did he indeed? Good. Yes, very good."

Thanks for reading! Please review!


	11. Three Blind Men Begin to See

Thanks Lift the Wings, Lucy, Nelarun, Pissenoffanis, and shariena for your reviews!

Author's Note: I recently put a new poll on my profile...consider checking it out and voting!

Three Blind Men Begin to See

"Edoras and the Golden Hall of Meduseld," Gandalf introduced as the group reached an overlook in view of Edoras. The city was of a medium size on a hill in the middle of a plain. Drifter, who was sitting behind Gandalf, didn't even try to look around his mass to attempt to gaze upon the town of Edoras, for she had seen it before, as he continued, "There dwells Théoden, King of Rohan, whose mind is overthrown. Saruman's hold over King Théoden is now very strong. Be careful what you say. Do not look for welcome here."

Drifter looked up towards the Hall as a flag of Rohan landed on the ground beside them. A woman was standing in exactly the same place as she once stood during her days in Rohan. She soon disappeared, however.

"You'll find more cheer in a graveyard," Gimli grumbled while the darkly clothed people glumly stared at them.

"It has changed much, indeed," the girl whispered.

As the group neared the top of the stairs, they were stopped by Háma, a man Drifter had been slightly familiar with the last time.

"I cannot allow you before Théoden-King so armed, Gandalf Greyhame. By order of… Gríma Wormtongue."

In response to Gandalf's nod, the travelers disarmed themselves. Both Drifter and Aragorn made Háma swear to keep their swords safe. The woman mentally laughed as she got away with keeping her three hidden daggers.

"Your staff," the man insisted to Gandalf.

"Oh," the old wizard replied. No could tell that he was the White wizard with a grey cloak. "You would not part an old man from his walking stick?" They all shared a small smile as Gandalf was allowed to pass.

"The courtesy of your hall is somewhat lessened of late, Théoden King," he called to a wizened old man on the throne.

"Why should I…welcome you, Gandalf…Stormcrow?" was the frail reply before the king looked to the pale, black-haired man beside him.

"A just question, my liege," Gríma said before turning to the newcomers. Drifter stopped in her tracks halfway through the Hall, hissing Wormtongue's name. "Late is the hour in which this conjurer chooses to appear. Lathspell spell I name him. Ill news is an ill guest."

"Be silent! Keep your forked tongue behind your teeth. I have not passed through fire and death to bandy crooked words with a witless worm!" Gandalf growled, revealing his staff. Drifter had moved away to the side, but began edging away as Gríma neared her.

"His staff! I told you to take the wizard's staff!" While Legolas, Aragorn, and Gimli fought off the guards and Gandalf approached the king, Wormtongue's eye found the woman. She was leaning against the wall, her eyes wide as she controlled her fear and anger. Wormtongue was one of the reasons she had left Rohan for Lorien. Then, he had just been promoted to the position Théoden's advisor...before he had turned out to be hunched and white. Drifter would have probably stayed longer in Rohan, but Gríma had taken to following her around.

Suddenly, her face became impassive once more as she lashed out with her sleeve dagger, sliced Gríma's perfect overcoat, and pinned him to the floor before one of the guards grabbed her from behind, forcing her to fight back. At the end of the fray, Drifter was glad to see that Gimli had the creepy wretch pinned to the ground. Meanwhile, Gandalf threw back his grey cloak to uncover his white garb, causing Théoden to be thrown against his seat.

"I will draw you, Saruman, as poison is drawn from a wound."

No one noticed the woman who had formerly been seen on the Hall stairs until she rushed to aid Théoden. She was, however, held back by Aragorn.

"If I go," a voice coming from the king, but clearly not his, said, "…Théoden dies."

"You did not kill me, you will not kill him."

"Rohan is mine!"

"Be gone!" With one more toss, the king leaned forward, moaning and Aragorn allowed the other woman to aid him.

"I know your face," Théoden wondered. "Éowyn…Éowyn. Gandalf?"

"Breathe the free air again, my friend."

"Dark have been my dreams of late," the king continued, looking at his still trembling hands.

"Your fingers would remember their old strength better…if they grasped your sword."

Háma faithfully raced to place his leader's sword in his hand. As his fingers touched the weapon, Drifter recognized the fire which returned to Théoden's eyes. She also gladly grabbed her sword and put it to Gríma's throat. He somehow managed to read the inscription and began trying to crawl away, though he was held by Gimli.

"The Dawn of Men…" he was muttering. The worm was soon taken away and thrown out the door, followed by most of the people in the Hall. Drifter stood just behind Aragorn as he stopped Théoden from killing Wormtongue.

"No, my lord! No, my lord. Let him go. Enough blood has been spilt on his account."

Though the Man kindly offered his hand to help Gríma stand, the creature spit upon the hand prior to running off.

"Where is Théodred? Where is my son?" the king suddenly asked.

An hour later, everyone was outside the city for Théodred's funeral. Drifter stood behind everyone else. She had never really known Théodred, but she still felt a certain amount of sadness for Théoden and his people. Following the gloomy event, everyone went inside the city except for Gandalf, Théoden, and Drifter.

"Simbelmynë," the king thought out loud, fingering a white flower. "Ever has it grown on the tombs of my forebearers. Now it shall cover the grave of my son. Alas, that these evil days should be mine. The young perish and the old linger. That I should live to see the last days of my house."

"Théodred's death was not of your making," the wizard consoled.

"No parent should have to bury their child."

"He was strong in life. His spirit will find its way to the halls of your fathers. Westu hál. Ferðu, Théodred, Ferðu. (Be-thou well. Go-thou, Théodred, go-thou.)"

As the woman turned to go with Gandalf, Théoden stopped her, through tears of sorrow.

"You seem well, Falathiel."

"You have my condolences," she responded, taking the ring of Rohan off of its chord and offering it to the king. "I believe this belongs to you. I have no need of it, seeing as everything is once again whole in Rohan. You were wise, though, giving it to me as a precaution against your own men somehow hurting me after I told you of the possible evil."

"Thank you."

All of sudden, a horse came into view and one of two children fell off it. Drifter raced to their aid while Théoden called for help. Bending down to the boy on the ground, she discovered that he was simply unconscious. The girl, she brought down from the faithful steed. The poor child weakly clung to Drifter, asking,

"Where is mama?" Thankfully, people came from the city to take care of the children, although the woman almost reluctantly let go of the girl. If had not been for Legolas and her wanderings, she could have been settled down with a family. Boromir would have made a wonderful father and husband, which brought to mind that he would have never died if…

-What am I thinking?! I would still be bound by my promise to Arathorn and I can't escape who and what I am-

(Gandalf)

As the old wizard ascended the Hall's stairs to where Aragorn was standing, they heard Théoden calling for aid. Gandalf and his friend were not needed, it seemed, as the people raced out the gates to a horse a short ways outside the city. Falathiel was standing next to the animal holding a small child. Unexpectedly, Aragorn asked,

"Who is she, Gandalf? Every time I think that I can understand her, she always does something unexpected."

"Falathiel's life-story is just as long and complicated as yours, if not more so, Aragorn."

"At least tell me something that explains some of what she does or knows."

Gandalf tried to decipher what he could tell the Man without completely giving away the secretive woman's identity.

"Let me see…She is one quarter elf. That may explain a few things."

"That was how she was able to walk on top of the snow in the mountains…and why she covers her ears."

"Yes, now you're beginning to understand the maze which is Falathiel. The only other thing I can reveal without her being angry with me for the next decade and yet risking it is that she was once engaged to Legolas." If Aragorn ever looked shocked, it was then.

"But he acted as if he had never seen her before in Rivendell."

"That is what he thinks. I will not tell you how it came to be, but, after Falathiel began wandering, Legolas taught himself to forget."

"If they were engaged…is she immortal?"

"Are you immortal, Aragorn?" Silence reigned between the two friends as two children were brought into the Hall, followed by the king and a few people of Rohan. Falathiel was the last to come. When she approached the two men, she seemed deep in thought.

"How old are you, Drifter?" Aragorn suddenly asked. Gandalf prepared himself for an outburst, but all he received was glare.

"You should know not ask a woman her age, Aragorn," was the answer. "Now, I don't know how you feel, but I need a bath. Now…if you'll excuse me."

(Aragorn)

Half an hour later, Théoden, Éowyn, the children, and the remaining Fellowship, except Drifter, were in the Hall.

"They had no warning," Éowyn explained while the children ate. "They were unarmed. Now the wildmen are moving through the Westfold, burning as they go…rick, cot, and tree."

"Where's mama?" the little girl queried.

"Shh…"

"This is but a taste of the terror that Saruman will unleash," Gandalf told the king while smoking his pipe. "All the more potent for he is driven now by fear of Sauron. Ride out and meet him head on. Draw him away from your women and children. You must fight."

"You have two thousand good men riding north as we speak. Éomer is loyal to you. His men will return and fight for their king."

"They will be three hundred leagues from here by now," Théoden despaired. "Éomer cannot help us. I know what it is that you want of me. But I will not bring further death to my people. I will not risk open war."

"Open war is upon you," Aragorn argued, "whether you would risk it or not."

"When last I looked, Théoden, not Aragorn, was king of Rohan."

"Gentlemen, you sound like squabbling chickens!" Drifter suddenly exclaimed, stepping from behind a pillar. Aragorn hadn't realized how dirty she had been. Though worry was clearly etched upon her face, the woman glowed. The Man noticed her elvish traits more since he knew what she was, though who she was still gnawed at him. For the most part, she seemed completely human, but the way she walked and held herself spoke differently. Normally, it seemed, she hunched her shoulders slightly; however, the somewhat low neckline of the plum-colored, floor-length dress of Rohan with flowing sleeves seemed to make her stand as straight as a queen. Not only that, but she clearly did not like it as she would occasionally shrug her shoulders. As he finished his study of her, Drifter continued.

"If you plan on doing anything, you must do it soon, for war is at your very doorstep, Théoden. As your friend and a ranger of experience, I must advise you to listen to Gandalf. If you run and hide, Saruman will hunt you down. And since you allowed Wormtongue to escape, your enemy will soon have detailed intelligence of your abilities and strategy…if he does not already have it. If you want to surprise Saruman, stay here and defend your people."

"Do you think that I have not thought of that, Falathiel?" the king snapped, although he seemed to be more respectful to a lady. "If we stay here and Saruman's forces come, we will be instantly overrun!"

"Then what is the king's decision?" Gandalf interrupted.

"We go to Helm's Deep."

After Théoden and Gandalf had walked out, arguing, soon followed by Éowyn and the children, Drifter approached Aragorn.

"What did he tell you?" she impassively queried. Knowing that the girl wished to be secretive still, he replied,

"He told me of what you are and of your former relationship," with just as much inexpressiveness. The woman simply rolled her eyes before stalking away.

"What was that about?" Legolas questioned. Gimli's only evidence of interest was his looking over the edge of his wine-filled mug.

"Perhaps I should have even more vague." Aragorn was silent until he realized that he was not going to get out of the situation. "Drifter is a quarter elf." Gimli choked down the remainder of his drink, but the elf continued staring at the Man beside him, clearly not believing that Aragorn had revealed all. "Fine, Legolas, but you may not believe me…" Legolas continued to stare. "Drifter used to be your fiancé…Gandalf's words, not mine."

At that, Gimli began choking on the piece of bread in his mouth.

"You could have at least waited until I had swallowed," the dwarf grumbled. Meanwhile, the elf looked away, his eyes squinting as he tried to comprehend what had been said.

"Drifter?"

"You will have to ask her about it if you want to know more…and you didn't hear it from me."

(Drifter)

The woman collapsed onto the large, fur-covered bed in the room she had been assigned to. Aragorn knew what she was, which meant that it was only a matter of time before others found out. It worried her. If they knew what she was...

Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door.

"My lady?" a maid questioned as she entered the large room, carrying a bundle of clothes. "I took the liberty of cleaning your things. I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all…please call me Falathiel," Drifter replied rising to simply sit on the fluffy bed-cover.

"Yes…Falathiel. Anyway, here are your things."

"Thank you."

"Of course, Miss…I mean Falathiel," the young woman replied, exiting the room.

"Théoden, you've become a fool," Drifter muttered to herself, once alone.

--

The next morning, Drifter was in the stables, talking to Shadowfax.

"When is this all going to stop, old friend? I'm tired of hiding and keeping secrets, yet I have no choice but to do so." Suddenly she heard Gandalf as he entered the stables with Aragorn. She did not notice Legolas at the entrance until she turned to see the wizard.

"There is no way out of that ravine. Théoden is walking into a trap. He thinks he's leading them to safety. What they will get is a massacre. Théoden has a strong will, but I fear for him. I fear for the survival of Rohan. He will need you before the end, Aragorn. The people of Rohan will need you…and Falathiel. The defenses HAVE to hold."

"They will hold," Aragorn assured the wizard as Drifter stepped to the side.

"The Grey Pilgrim…that's what they used to call me. Three hundred lives of men I've walked this earth and now I have no time. With luck, my search will not be in vain. Look to my coming at first light on the fifth day. At dawn, look to the East."

"Go." The wizard was soon out the door and gone from sight on the grand steed. The woman glared at Aragorn after seeing Legolas' intent stare directed at her. Heading out the doorway, she hissed to the elf,

"I betrayed you…and I'm not sorry for it." If she wanted him to not feel sorry for her or his forgetfulness, she figured that that was the best way to do it. She headed straight for her quarters to change back into casual gear.

Thank you for reading! Please review!


	12. Pain Taken and Replaced

Thanks sparkalie, shariena, Lift the Wings, zenrockstar, Sofia, and Nelarun for your reviews!

To all my reviewers, your support is what encourages me to keep going.

Pain Taken and Replaced

Some time later, Drifter was in the Hall, leaning against one of the pillars. She was back in her ranger garb, though it was once again clean, her weapons were secured around her person, and her bag was strapped over her vest and cloak. As she studied her sword, muttering that the guards would wish they were never born if they had harmed it, Éowyn opened a chest and took a sword out from its depths. After marveling at the weapon, the maiden began practicing. Meanwhile, the Drifter continued checking her own armament for any blemishes caused by the men of Rohan. Suddenly, metal clashed against metal as Aragorn blocked one of Éowyn's blows with his dagger. At that, the female ranger casually took out her carving and began the finishing touches.

"You have some skill with a blade," Aragorn noted.

Sheathing her sword, the woman replied,

"Women of this country learned long ago: Those without swords can still die upon them. I fear neither death nor pain."

"What do you fear, my lady?"

"A cage. To stay behind bars until use and old age accept them and all chances of valor has gone beyond recall or desire."

"You are a daughter of kings, a shield-maiden of Rohan. I do not think that would be your fate." Éowyn gazed at the Man's back as he retreated from the area. Drifter blew loose shavings from her artwork, ignoring the dust which fell to the floor.

"I never caught your name. I mean…I heard what Gandalf called you, but what is your real name?"

The statement caused Drifter to look up at Éowyn, who continued her work, though she occasionally glanced at the ranger.

"Your people know me as Falathiel."

"But you…"

"Éowyn," Théoden suddenly said, "are you ready?"

-Saved by the king-

"Yes, Uncle," the woman replied prior to walking off with her sword.

"May I ask what you told her, Théoden?" the remaining woman queried.

"Another time. For now, we must leave."

"Very well."

--

(Aragorn)

The next day in the late morning, Gimli was on a horse ahead of Aragorn, with Éowyn walking next to him.

"It's true you don't see many dwarf women. And in fact, they are so alike in voice and appearance, that they're often mistaken for dwarf men."

When Éowyn looked back to Aragorn in confusion, he whispered,

"It's the beards…" Drifter, meanwhile, was walking next to the Man's own horse on his right. The way she walked…she acted as if she belonged there. There was no discomfort that he could see. She simply walked on, with a hand rested on her sword and her eyes downcast in deep thought, how she was much of the time.

"And this, in turn," Gimli was continuing, "has given rise to the belief that there are no dwarf women. And that dwarves just spring out of holes in the ground. Which is, of course, ridiculous…" As Éowyn gaily laughed, the horse began galloping away due to Gimli's sudden movements and he fell off. "It's alright, it's alright," the dwarf burst out, getting up. "Nobody panic. That was deliberate. It was deliberate."

"I haven't seen my niece smile for a long time," Théoden unexpectedly stated after slowing his horse to walk beside Aragorn's while Éowyn continued laughing. "She was a girl when they brought her father back dead. Cut down by orcs. She watched her mother succumb to grief. Then she was left alone, to tend her king in growing fear…doomed to wait upon an old man, who should have loved her as a father."

--

The caravan soon stopped in the evening to set up camp and Éowyn began walking towards Aragorn with a pot of soup before long. She first stopped in front of Gimli, but he responded to her by saying,

"No, I couldn't. I really couldn't." The Man heard a snicker come from next to him, but when he looked to his right, all he saw was the straight-faced Drifter sitting a few feet away, nibbling on the last of her lembas bread.

(Drifter)

"I made some stew," Éowyn offered to Aragorn. "It isn't much, but it's hot." As the Man took a bowl from the woman, Drifter thanked herself for finishing her lembas upon smelling the brew as she took out her carving to make the final adjustments. Moments later, her attention was once again brought back to the conversation next to her as Éowyn continued,

"My uncle told me a strange thing. He said that you rode to war with Thengel, my grandfather, but he must be mistaken."

"King Théoden has a good memory," the ranger verified. "He was only a small child at the time."

"Then you must be at least sixty!" At that, Drifter looked up to see Aragorn appear slightly embarrassed. "Seventy? You cannot be eighty!"

"Eighty-seven."

"You are one of the Dúnedain. A descendant of Númenor, blessed with long life. It was said that your race has passed into legend."

"There are few of us left. The Northern Kingdom was destroyed long ago."

"Then, is Falathiel one of your kind as well?" Drifter jerked her head up at Éowyn's assumption. What made her think of something like that?

"Drifter is a ranger and a quarter elf, but she is not one of the Dúnedain."

"Elf? Well, that does explain allot. I'm sorry. Please, eat!"

Drifter narrowed her eyes at Aragorn. Who was he to go spreading information of her heritage around? And all because Gandalf couldn't keep his trap shut! All of a sudden, Éowyn once again broke through her barrier of thinking.

"Falathiel, may speak with you?"

"Of course, Éowyn," the girl replied with a forced smile. Once they were some ways away from anyone else, the king's niece went on.

"You are Falathiel?"

"Yes."

"Nearly my whole life, I thought that you were nothing by the main character of my uncle's bedtime stories…before Gríma poisoned his mind, of course. Every night, I would go to sleep hoping that I could one day be like you. You couldn't be more than twenty…but that's explained by the elf part."

"I am only a quarter elf. I do not have their immortality, and therefore, I cannot live an eternity with an elf. And if I fell in love with a human…I would have to watch him age and die before I even gained a streak of grey in my hair. That information is what I use to not completely break down over the losses of the two men I loved. No, Éowyn, you do not want to be me. Reclusiveness is my shelter, secrecy my food. All of this…your lifestyle…it's overwhelming for me to remain in for too long."

"Still…if you're old enough for me to not even remember you…how old could you possibly be? You must have some heritage of an elf's long life. Again, you could not be more than twenty." Drifter nervously laughed at the fact that she was in exactly the same position Aragorn had been in moments before. "Forty?" The ranger finally decided to play along as she put her carving back in her bag. "Seventy is impossible!"

"You would not believe me if I told you."

"Then you must be an elf, for older would be…well, impossible!"

"Once again, I do not have their immortality. Now, let me teach you a few cooking techniques I know." The diversion seemed successful.

After an hour of trial and error, the two women came up with a concoction which the people lined up for. When everyone had settled down, Éowyn once more spoke.

"My uncle told my cousin, brother, and myself of your amazing travels, but I'm sure that at least some of them are made up. He said that you were a Ranger of the North, that you lived in Rivendell."

"For a time."

"Aragorn said that he was raised there…"

"He saw nothing of me."

"Yes, well, my uncle also told of your grand adventures, traveling to the Misty Mountains, Gondor, the borders of Mordor, and here before going to the land of Lorien. How much of it is true?"

"All of it."

"But…"

"You win! Ninety-seven."

"I'm sorry. I must have heard wrong."

"I am ninety-seven years old."

"I thought you said…"

"…that I was not immortal, which is true, although I will not begin to age again for some time."

"Oh…"

Night soon came and Drifter wandered through the camp. Everyone was asleep, it seemed, though she was soon proved wrong as she spotted Aragorn sitting against his tent and smoking his pipe.

"I didn't see your tent, Drifter."

"I told them not to pack one," the woman replied, sitting down next to the Man. "It would have only weighed them down more."

"Drifter…" Aragorn acted as if he was at a loss for words, and that never happened. "I will always want to know who you are, but I also understand that you have been very…uncomfortable with my searching for answers."

"What do you want?" Drifter asked coldly.

"I just wanted to assure you that you will not have to worry about that any more. What I have discovered has made me understand at least partially why you guard your secrets so carefully."

"It's alright, Aragorn. Since Arathorn, your father, died…I simply wasn't able to tolerate civilization any more. I admit, I did live in Rivendell, Gondor, Rohan, and Lorien for certain amounts of time, but never too close to the general population. You know of the carving I have been working on?"

"You mean the one that you have been hiding since before Moria?"

"Yes, that one. I made it for you," she whispered, giving the Man a hand-sized horse carving of red wood. "A little puzzle for you to decipher." With a smirk, Drifter walked off.

(Aragorn)

He fingered the life-like figurine and wondered what sort of relationship Drifter had had with his father. In the dim light, only one of the many tiny elvish engravings could be deciphered: "Parn os Tael (Dawn of Men)."

(Ok, just had to do that quick segment…back to Drifter again)

Strolling to the outside of the camp, the woman closed her eyes, facing the cool breeze.

"Lorien." It was a name she had mentioned a few times in the past days, and yet, it seemed foreign to her tongue. In Rivendell, she accepted the elf who wooed her and he forgot her. Eventually, she accepted a Man of Gondor and he died. No one courted her in Rohan due to her isolated attitude at the time and, in Lorien…when she was still engaged to Legolas, it was just that which caused her to deny the elf there, but recently…the only real reason Drifter rejected Haldir was because she couldn't tolerate falling for another elf. Shaking her head, the ranger walked back into the camp. It was not the time to think of such things.

Morning came quickly enough as the people packed their things away and went on with their journey. Drifter clenched her jaw upon seeing Éowyn walk next Aragorn with their horses in front of her.

"Where is she?" the woman of Rohan was asking, motioning to the Man's elvish necklace. "The woman who gave you that jewel." The girl behind them relaxed when Aragorn did not immediately respond. "My lord?"

"She is sailing to the Undying Lands, with all that is left of her kin."

-No, Aragorn, don't think that-

Suddenly, Drifter sensed the presence of evil, running ahead to stand next to Legolas as he stared into the distance.

"You have been rather silent lately," she noted. The elf was about to say something in reply, but one of the Men who had ridden ahead was abruptly attacked by a Warg, a large dog-like creature. Racing to the remaining Man's aid and killing the animal, along with its orc rider, Legolas cried,

"A scout!" After running to the top of the next hill, the former lovers watched as a flood of Wargs ran towards them in the distance.

"And here I was thinking that this little adventure was getting a bit boring," Drifter lightly said, fitting an arrow to her already-strung bow. They each were able to kill two of the oncoming riders before their own warriors came from behind them. The girl glared at the elf as he lightly swung onto the horse Gimli was riding. Just as she began running towards the enemy, Drifter was grabbed from behind and flung onto the hindquarters of one of the other horses. Twisting around to a seated position, she realized that the Man in front of her was Aragorn. As the two forces neared each other, Drifter also noted that the safest place for her was definitely not on top of a horse. Nearly right after she had dropped onto the ground, the small armies collided. Of course, not being on one of the steeds did not mean that she didn't have plenty to do. In the space of but a moment, the woman had already downed three Wargs and their riders with her sword. After working her way to ledge of a cliff and hurling an orc into the river below, Drifter turned just in time to see another pair of foes rushing toward her. The only difference was that Aragorn was being dragged along. Though she drew a dagger, the ranger did not trust her throwing ability enough to risk hitting the Man. Suddenly the Warg picked up speed and hurled itself against her before tumbling off the cliff, taking Aragorn with it.

"ARAGORN!!!" she screamed, clinging to the rock and desperately fighting the urge to let herself drop. As Drifter silently scanned the two and a half foot length of sheer rock between herself and safety, she heard the sounds of battle die down. To pass the time, she looked below her in hopes of seeing Aragorn swimming in the river, but her search was in vain. Just as she was about to give up and release her grip, Théoden appeared on the outcrop above her.

(Legolas)

Taking the Evenstar from the dead orc's hand, the elf looked at the cliff to see Théoden kneeling at the edge.

"Legolas! Gimli! Help me!" the king called while reaching over the edge.

"What is it?" the elf asked, trotting over to the Man.

"What do you think?" an exasperated, yet clearly female voice asked from below. When Legolas looked down, he saw Drifter clutching to the rock while Théoden reached for her hand. For some reason, she was resisting the help.

"Drifter, come on!" the prince half-yelled, gripping the girl's wrist and dragging her up onto the grass.

"No!" Drifter shouted, rushing back towards the ledge, only to be held back by Legolas.

"Get the wounded on horses," Théoden was obliviously ordering his men. "The wolves of Isengard will return. Leave the dead. Come."

The remaining ranger, meanwhile, angrily shoved herself away from Legolas, walked ten feet away, drew one of her daggers, and viciously hurled it into a dead Warg a few yards further. After the weapon hit its mark with fearful precision, the woman threw herself onto the ground, screaming in frustration. With her petite body curled up on the rocky soil and the way she had dropped, her long, golden-brown hair was streaming out in front of her.

(Drifter)

Pushing herself into a kneeling position, Drifter stared blankly into the distance. She had failed in her promise to Arathorn: to protect the heir of Gondor's throne with her life. Now he was dead and she had no purpose left. The woman had always day-dreamed of what she would do with herself after her duties for Aragorn were fulfilled, but to have them taken away from her in one fell swoop…As her mind emptied in despair, Drifter remembered what it was like to be safe and in peace without a care.

_As the woman calmly walked through the Golden Woods, she marveled at the beauty around her. The leaves were just beginning to fall, showing off the excellence of the forest's name. Suddenly, she found herself faced by a dozen or so arrows, along with their owners, the elves._

"_Ai tysti ail vaeli eir ei thol os aelaer (I come in peace as a friend of elves)," she calmly stated, to which the guards replied by slowly lowering their weapons._

"_Shai eisi o...sail os aelaer (Who are you...friend of elves)?" the leader asked with slight hostility. _

"_Ai eis cyrn shia talia bastaer ail talia valaer, sai os shos eisi Falathiel eil Poraes (I am known by many names in many places, two of which are Falathiel and Drifter)."_

"_Falathiel…" the lead elf hissed, once again pointing an arrow at the newcomer, followed by the others. "Aelaelael os eindrai, ei vasia os ael aezolaer thys Volaelaer shaesi ol saes shae caesi shael si shaesi eisteraer. Si basti shos shar maer eir sar os si colaes shar, ailaer, Falathiel (Eleven years ago, a party of eight exiles from Rivendell were on their way here when they were ambushed. The name which was spread as that of the killer was, indeed, Falathiel)."_

"_Ai por shar o mae…_ _sher_ _Ai talyr eirys sai paer ol air jhylaes sal Ai eilaedia cali. Ai mostia syl aezalia shar si myli thys ti: tia jhori (I did what you say…but I cannot afford to dwell on it longer than I already have. I simply took exactly what they stole from me: my life)." Drifter could tell that the elf was about to say something, but she interrupted, earning a few dropped jaws from her captors. "Pai byr sol sar Ai cali byr meraesaer thys air os pyl's vaendraer air. Aelaesia pae moli, Ai cali mael saes sysaelaer thalaer...ail_ _tia paes, si cal ti, ail tia shajol, si mar ti. Pai byr bedi ti sai myl (Do not think that I have not suffered for it or don't regret it. Every day since, I have seen their tormented faces...in my dreams, they haunt me, in my waking, they stalk me. Do not judge me too soon)."_

_Clearly taken aback, the elf blinked a few times prior to saying,_

"_O cali shyl tia vaeraes thys byrn. Ai mar shol o shaerysi tia Jhadia (You have won my respect for now. I shall bring you before my Lady)."_

_--_

"_Lady Falathiel," the elf who had brought the girl to Galadriel an hour before addressed her as she stood on a balcony, overlooking the giant forest._

"_Yes…my Lord? It seems you do speak a tongue other than elvish," Drifter replied with a small smile._

"_The Lady Galadriel told me that you were a Ranger of the North. I thought it only respectful to speak in your common tongue."_

"_Actually, I have two common tongues: this one and elvish."_

"…_she also spoke of your heritage."_

"_Ah, well…I suppose I cannot object to the great Lady of Light's opinion."_

"_Even though you are only part elf…a full-blood elf-maiden's beauty does not compare with your own."_

_Drifter breathed a laugh._

"_If you are going to court me, at least tell me your name."_

"_I am Haldir: marchwarden of the northern borders of Lorien."_

"_My close friends call me Lyn; however, I must warn you that I am already in love with another."_

"_May I reserve a place at your side if that love takes an ill turn?"_

"_Possibly…"_

"_Lyn…I also wanted to apologize for earlier. I did not realize the extent of your suffering and those elves' treachery until the Lady told me. They deserved death and you deserve mercy and protection."_

"_No apology is needed. I feel so safe here, Haldir. It almost seems wrong to live in such peace while my duties lie elsewhere."_

"_Rest here at least for a while. I will be your escort. It will give me an excuse to take a reprieve from my own duties." The new-found friends laughed together in perfect harmony. Drifter felt happier than she had ever been in Rivendell, it seemed._

"Drifter, we must go!" Legolas insisted, suddenly pulling the woman to her feet. Since most of the horses were dead, she was forced to share with one of the Riders.

Thanks for reading! Please review! Again, I beg of you to vote in the poll I have on my profile. Every vote counts!


	13. Final Hope is Diminished

Thanks Lift the Wings, Lucy, sofia, Memory bleeds, Pissenoffanis, and Safrina for your reviews!

Final Hope is Diminished

Through the final leg of their journey, Drifter said nothing. When Legolas caught her eye, she simply glared at him. Although he was not responsible for anything that had happened, she still used him as someone to blame other than herself for Aragorn's demise.

"Helm's Deep!" one of the Men in the front called. The woman rested her head in exasperation from the past day against the back of the Man in front of her; however, she quickly sat straight as her ride sighed contentedly at the action. It was not the first time he had done so, but Drifter was no less alarmed by it.

"Make way for Théoden!" Gamling cried as they entered the castle gate. The ranger gladly slipped off of the steed and leaned against the wall just inside the door.

"He fell…" Gimli was replying to Éowyn's questioning. Upon hearing the dwarf's statement, Drifter turned to face the wall prior to punching it almost as hard as she could, causing a few drops of blood to emit from her bruised knuckles. Throughout nearly her entire life, she had been at least partially in control of situations. But, with Aragorn's death, she felt completely lost and conquered. Life would never be the same.

"Falathiel," Éowyn suddenly addressed her, sorrow evident in her voice as she broke off and looked at Drifter's scraped hand. "What happened?"

"I've been trying to put the blame upon someone else, but it was my fault that he is dead. I had the dagger ready and…Éowyn, it was my duty to protect him, to put him on Gondor's throne…now…"

"Falathiel!" Théoden summoned the girl.

"Yes, my lord," Drifter replied with absolute formality, causing the king to pause before continuing,

"Mourning is for another time. For now, I would like your assistance in planning for our defenses."

"Of course."

An hour later, the woman was standing in the hall, arguing with Théoden over a map.

"My lord, if we do that, we will instantly be overrun!"

"Then what are you suggesting, Falathiel?! If we do not, you might as well announce to Saruman that we are here!"

"You do not understand! The Enemy already knows of our location. It's just a matter of time before…" Drifter was cut off as the doors opened. She beheld a sight she never expected to see again: Aragorn…if a bit ragged-looking. The girl backed away to lean against a pillar in disbelief. If only Aragorn could have comprehended what she had gone through and what responsibilities she had because of him, maybe he would not have ignored her presence and walked straight to Théoden.

"There is a great host coming our way," the Man reported.

"A great host, you say?" the king queried worriedly.

"All Isengard is emptied."

"How many?"

"Ten thousand strong, at least."

"Ten thousand?!"

"It is an army bred for a single purpose: to destroy the world of Men. They will be here by nightfall."

"Well, Falathiel, it seems you were right." Drifter was slightly stunned as Théoden addressed her, as was, it seemed, Aragorn at seeing her standing there.

"Umm…so it seems."

"Let them come!" As the two Men walked out to supervise the preparations, Drifter was left alone, her lips parted and her eyes incomprehensive. He didn't even say hello. She had been blaming herself for his death and yet, there he was, alive and well.

Again, some time later, Drifter had moved her position: to the Glittering Caves beneath the castle. As she and Aragorn stood studying the swords which being handed out to the old men and young boys, the latter tossed the weapon he was holding back in the pile.

"Farmers, farriers, stable boys," he noted. "These are no soldiers."

"Most have seen too many winters," Gimli pointed out from nearby.

"Or too few," Legolas corrected. "They're frightened. I can see it in their eyes. Boe a hyn: neled herain dan caer menig (And they should be... Three hundred against ten thousand)!" to which Aragorn replied,

"Si beriathar hyn ammaeg na ned Edoras (They have more hope of defending themselves here than at Edoras)."

"Aragorn, nedin dagor hen ú-'erir... ortheri. Natha daged dhaer (Aragorn, they cannot win this fight. They are all going to die)!"

"Then I shall die as one of them!" At that, the Man walked away. Legolas made to go after him, but Gimli stopped him.

"Let him go, lad. Let him be." With a growl, Drifter caused the dull sword she was holding to clatter down into the pile, tired of being ignored. Drawing her sword, she placed it against the throat of a surprised Legolas.

"You do not know what it is like to be hunted for what you are," she hissed, slowly backing the elf into a pillar. "I was chased for who and what I am. In turn, I became Falathiel: the huntress, the hunted who became the hunter. Before I turned seventeen, which was eighty-one years ago, I was protected. After Arathorn died, I became the protector, the dawn: Minuialwen. Do you think that I do not tire of hiding in the shadows, Legolas? You may not remember me and my love for you all those years ago, but know this: you would not be able to comprehend my true identity if I told you straight out." Turning and pacing the semi-circle of thirty Men which had surrounded her, Drifter continued, challengingly. "Though no one may yet know my name and heritage, you should all be aware that I have slaughtered more orcs than you can dream of killing! I have loved three men and lost them all! Before the age of twenty, nearly every single member of my family was dead! I spent literally decades wandering the wilds of Middle-Earth by myself with only the memories I clung to for company! In the past year, I have fought beside elves, Men, dwarves, hobbits, and wizards!" With that, she had them hooked. The Men, the elf, and the dwarf were staring at the woman, entranced by her powerful and unexpected speech. "And now, I am here to fight alongside you in one of the greatest and most crucial battles for the survival of Mankind since our last defeat of Sauron. My fellow Men…I cannot promise you that we will triumph on this day, but I swear to you upon this sword, handed down to me from my mother, who received it from her mother and on down the line for generations: Parn thys si pas os aelor (Dawn from the dark of evil)…that I will not rest…until either I am dead with a dozen of my slain enemies scattering the ground about me in an hour or until Sauron and his minions are vanquished for good! The Enemy is trying to silence us. Will we submit to this oppression? No! We will stand and fight for the freedom of Rohan and Middle-Earth!" The utter silence which had somehow ensued during her speech erupted into a smothering roar of cheering. One of Men began the shout,

"For Rohan! For Middle-Earth!" Drifter was shocked by how a little encouragement went so far with the relatively small group of fighters. To avoid becoming too popular in one minute, she slipped out of the still-cheering group. The noise did not die down and become replaced by an ancient war-song of Rohan until the ranger had already reached a dark, lonely hallway and leaned against the stone bricks. She had never experienced giving a pep talk like that before. Arathorn had given her tips on what encouraged the hearts of Men, but having lived in a world of solitude, the practice was completely new to her. Drifter breathed a sigh of relief and fatigue prior to hearing the dwarf's voice at the end of the hall. Laughing, he stated,

"That was marvelous, lassie! However, I must admit that I did not expect something like to come from a quiet little thing like you!" Though Drifter was more in the mood for silence than praise, she kindly smiled at her companion. "It definitely worked for those inexperienced lads." When the girl finally began to really cheer up, her eyes caught Legolas. Understandingly, Gimli walked away, leaving the elf and mixed-breed to face each other.

"Why do I not remember you, Falathiel?" he quietly asked.

"…Legolas, even Lord Elrond was unable fully understand it. Before I tell you, you must promise me that you stay with your present fiancé. She does not deserve to go through that loss as I did."

"Falathiel…"

"You must promise."

"Very well."

"Alright, then…sixty-eight years ago, I met you on a bridge in Rivendell. A few years later, you came back and asked me to marry you." Drifter smiled at the memory, but Legolas simply stared into her eyes. "Two days before you were to return to Mirkwood, I was taken by my enemies, Elrond's advisors, and thrown out of the city. You must have thought that I had betrayed you and taught yourself to forget as all elves can do once in their time in Middle-Earth. I wandered throughout many lands for decades, never able to completely settle down in one place for too long, even capturing Gollum at one point, although I had to let him go after he nearly throttled me. I could go on for hours with this…when I was seventy-one, I returned to the life of a Ranger of the North and watched over Aragorn: the duty his father charged me with. Now, here I am. I have lost my love for you, Legolas. Don't lose what you have because of me." At that, she walked away, leaving the elf stunned. It took all her will not to run back to him. She would never fully get over losing him. Eventually wandering back to the finally empty armory, Drifter found some gear which Théoden had set aside for her. After she had put on the surprisingly perfectly-fitting leather vambraces under a chain mail shirt, over which she put her vest, along with her many weapons, Drifter did not notice Aragorn's presence as he also prepared for battle nearby until Legolas entered and handed the Man his sword.

"We have trusted you this far. You have not led us astray," the elf told the ranger. "Forgive me. I was wrong to despair."

"Ú-moe edaved, Legolas (There is nothing to forgive, Legolas)." At that, Gimli came in, struggling to get his chain mail on.

"We had time, I'd get this adjusted," he grumbled as it dropped, reaching the floor. "It's a little tight across the chest." The other three companions in the room all bit back smiles upon seeing the dwarf's predicament. Suddenly, they heard a horn sound somewhere outside.

"That is no orc horn," the elf noted, racing out the door, closely followed by Aragorn. Drifter remained a moment to help Gimli in removing the strangely fitting shirt. A minute later, the woman and dwarf were running to see what everyone outside was staring at. As she reached the top of the stairs, her eyes settled upon Haldir as he stated,

"We are proud to fight alongside Men, once more." The elf began ascending the stairs towards Drifter and addressed her.

"The Lady of Light sends her greetings and wishes you to remember the Mirror. She said that you would understand." Though the woman was momentarily taken back at the statement, she once again hardened, replying,

"I gladly receive both the Lady's greetings and her advice, though it is a few decades too late. It is wonderful to see you, Haldir!" For the first time, Haldir took the initiative in embracing Drifter, who happily reciprocated.

"Is it finally my time to stand by your side?" he asked so softly that only those standing the closest could hear. Trembling at the thought of her last chance to love, the girl answered, saying,

"Yes, Haldir…with all that's left of my heart, yes!" Instantly, their lips met in a short, yet passionate kiss. Drifter felt throbbing pain and overwhelming joy at the same time. While she had grasped at impossible futures, Haldir had waited patiently for years, hoping that she would accept him. She knew that he would instantly forfeit his immortality for her. They had found each other through the confusion of life and war. A voice in the back of her mind warned her of tragedy soon to come as the woman walked with Haldir to the battlement in final preparation for the battle, but she viciously pushed it back. For the next hour, Drifter stood beside Haldir with the elven archers. When the dark of night came, a mass of orc torches could be seen approaching from a distance. It was then that the rain began to fall, the Uruk-hai beat their weapons on the ground, and the archers drew their arrows, Drifter included. Unfortunately, someone prematurely released an arrow, though the only fighting woman was impressed with its accuracy.

"You still have a chance to go into the caves, Falathiel," Haldir offered.

"No, my place is here." Instantly, the enemy host charged towards the wall with ladders clearly tall enough to reach the top.

"Tangado a chadad (Prepare to fire)!" Aragorn could be heard. In response, the elves and Drifter notched their arrows. "Leithio i philinn (Release the arrows)!" The woman grinned as her arrow perfectly hit its mark. As the Uruks began raising their ladders, Drifter sent two more arrows their way before drawing her sword. She had plenty to do when the orcs began pouring over the side.

"…ten, eleven…sixteen, seventeen…" she counted, letting all of her anger and frustration which had built up since Boromir had died flow into her fighting. Time flew by as she concentrated on nothing but revenge. It was at some point during that chaos that she heard Aragorn calling,

"Togo hon dad, Legolas (Bring him down, Legolas)!" Looking down, Drifter caught sight of a flame-bearing Uruk running towards the wall with an arrow already protruding from its shoulder. As the girl added her own arrow in the runner's chest, another projectile joined hers. Sadly, the Uruk reached his goal, causing a huge explosion, which made the entire section Aragorn was on close by, to collapse. The repercussion, in turn, caused everyone on the still-standing wall to lose their footing. After crawling to the edge of the newly-made gap and seeing that Aragorn, along with a somewhat large group of elves, was alive and charging the enemies, Drifter resumed her fighting. Only a few of the elves around her were still alive, Haldir included.

"Haldir," Aragorn called from below a few minutes later, "nan Barad (to the Keep)!"

"Nan Barad (To the Keep)!" Haldir reciprocated. Just as Drifter reached forty in her counting, she heard the elf slightly gasp. Disbelieving, she turned to see Haldir looking at his wounded arm as another Uruk approached him from behind.

"Haldir!" she called, hoping that her lover would turn in time, but to no avail. She stared uncertainly when he fell to his knees, looking about blankly at the faces of his fallen comrades before his eyes settled on Drifter. Aragorn soon came from behind to kill Haldir's mortal attacker and to catch the brave leader as he fell. The woman wouldn't believe it, yet she had no choice but to do so.

_Drifter watched from the last earthen step as Galadriel gracefully filled a silver ewer from a nearby spring and turned to her._

"_Will you look into the Mirror?" the Lady quietly queried._

"_What will I see?" the other woman asked in turn._

_Pouring the water into a silver bowl, Galadriel replied,_

"_Even the wisest cannot tell. For the Mirror…shows many things…things that are…things that were…and some things…that have not yet come to pass."_

"_You have told many people of this, haven't you?"_

"_You are very observant, Falathiel."_

"_Arathorn used to tell me that." Hesitantly, Drifter looked into the clear pool of water. Looking worriedly to Galadriel for encouragement, the Lady nodded to her…so, the ranger returned to gazing into the water. _

_A flash of color emitted from its depths. She cringed as a battle appeared being fought. Two rangers were left standing in the fog._

"_Where is Galish?" the man questioned the woman hoarsely. The reply was an anguished scream somewhere in the mist. Desperately, the remaining rangers continued their struggle against the orcs._

"_NO!!!" the woman cried._

_In reality, Drifter blinked as the scene in the Mirror changed. _

_A woman was sitting on a bench with a hobbit, overlooking the east gate of Rivendell. __Three Mirkwood elves rode into the gate, causing the woman, Drifter, to sit up, alert. As she was about to arise and run down the stairs, she saw a brown-haired elf-maiden run up to the group's leader and tightly embrace him before kissing him on the cheek. The ranger's hand resting on her sword tightened on the hilt as the male elf responded in kind to the maiden's actions. It was then that she realized that the maiden was, in fact, Miluiel._

"_Is he among them?" the hobbit innocently queried._

_Once again in the real world, Drifter gasped in mental agony as the Mirror closed in on the male elf's face. It was Legolas. Before she could think, the image changed once more._

_A woman Drifter again recognized as herself was fighting beside a handsome, dark red-haired Man against a hoard of unusually large orcs._

"_Boromir!" Drifter was screaming. In a flash of color and movement, the ranger was on the ground with the Man's head in her lap._

_Instantly, the image once again changed and, to Drifter's horror, it once more displayed a battle._

"_Haldir!" she called as a fair-haired elf was about to be hit from behind by another one of the larger-than-life orcs…_

"_No!!" Drifter screamed, jumping away from the Mirror. "No more!"_

"_I know what it is you saw, for it is also within my mind," Galadriel stated before making her voice heard in Drifter's mind. "It is but a sample of the suffering you have gone through and will endure."_

Thanks for reading! Please review and vote in the poll on my profile!


	14. Body Saved, Spirit Fades

Thanks Safrina, Lift the Wings, Lady Lea, and memory bleeds for your reviews!

Body Saved, Spirit Fades

"Drifter!" Aragorn suddenly cried, gently laying Haldir's limp body on the ground. Though she had been wallowing in her grief, Drifter was still aware of the Uruks close behind her. She almost wanted to die, just to let the swinging blade hit her once and her agony would be over. But, then again, if she died, all those deaths would be for nothing. At the last minute, the woman dropped to ground and rolled towards Aragorn as one of the orcs' strange swords whistled by right where her head had just been.

"Come on, Drifter!" Aragorn once more insisted after he had cut down a few enemies. He unexpectedly grabbed his shocked companion by the waist and jumped onto the nearest ladder with her in tow, causing the ladder to lose its balance and fall backwards into the mass of orcs below. As she landed on her feet, Drifter called to the Man,

"What did you do that for?! I was perfectly fine on my own, thank you very much!"

Aragorn simply grasped the girl's arm, dragging her back towards the sanctuary of the keep. As soon as they were in a relatively safe place, the Man pushed Drifter against the wall and pinned her there.

"Drifter, we need you now! Mourning is for another time!"

That was the last straw.

"That is almost exactly what Théoden said when I thought you were dead and I was blaming myself for it! Aragorn, you have the perfect lover, who stays safe and faithful. You don't know what it's like to lose five people you care about and almost two more! Arathorn, my mother, Legolas, Boromir, Haldir, I've lost them all! You weren't there, Aragorn, when your father lay dying…I was. He told me to protect you and see you to the throne. I have lost everything to keep that promise! I thought I lost you, you came back…but Haldir! If you could only fathom what I have gone through for your sake, Aragorn, perhaps I would not be against a wall and you would not be judging me for my lifestyle: suffering." Aragorn was glaring at Drifter. "You don't understand! I knew that all of this would happen. Years ago, I looked into Galadriel's Mirror and saw the deaths of almost all the Men I cared about." That did the trick. Aragorn released his hold, allowing the woman to race the rest of the way to the breaching gate. Because of the oncoming flow of Uruks, the Men of Rohan were unable to bar the gate. A moment later, Théoden requested from nearby,

"Hold them!"

"How long do you need?" Aragorn asked.

"As long as you can give me!" Drifter began following other ranger, but he turned to her.

"Drifter, please stay here and help bar the gate."

"I may look younger than you, but that does not mean that I am." Reluctantly letting the woman come, Aragorn led the way to a secret passage which in turn led to a ledge just outside the main gate.

"Come on! We can take 'em!" Gimli urged.

"It's a long way," the Man pointed out.

"Toss me."

"What?"

"I cannot jump the distance! You'll have to toss me! Oh…don't tell the elf."

"Not a word." At that, the dwarf was hurled into a clump of orcs on the bridge.

"A little help might be nice," Drifter stated with sarcasm. Once on the ramp, the woman furiously killed the Uruks around her, giving Théoden the chance to block the entrance.

"Gimli! Aragorn! Falathiel! Get out of there!" the king called.

Aragorn grabbed a hold of the rope flung down by Legolas. After dragging Gimli from the fighting, he looked at the still-fighting woman.

"Drifter, come on!" The female ranger in turn looked up to see that Legolas was the only one prepared to hoist her companions to safety. Aragorn must have noticed her misgivings. "Drifter, don't…" He was cut off as the girl hurled herself into the Man, causing him swing away from the ramp and forcing Legolas to pull on the rope. The least she could do was to hold the Uruks back but a moment longer. As soon as she noticed that her friends were safe, Drifter reached into the bag on her back which she had stubbornly kept on and took out the Mythril rope.

"Legolas!" she yelled. When the elf popped his head over the side, the woman tossed an end of the rope to him. After killing a few more of her foes, she tightened her hold on the rope and let Legolas pull her up.

"Mythril rope?" the elf lightly queried as she dropped to the safe side of the battlement. "Never heard of that before," he finished.

"When you travel as much as me, you never know when you're going to need it."

After getting as many of the survivors as possible into the keep, the remaining Fellowship rushed into the large stone room just as the Men began securing the door. As benches and tables were carried to block the gate, Théoden despairingly howled,

"The fortress is taken. It is over."

"You said this fortress would never fall while your Men defend it! They still defend it! They have died defending it!" Aragorn countered while Drifter warily eyed the door when the Uruks on the other side began using their battering ram. "Is there no other way for the women and children to get out of the caves? Is there not other way?"

"There is one passage," Gamling replied. "It leads into the mountains. But they will not get far. The Uruk-hai are too many."

"Send word for the women and children to make for the mountain pass. And barricade the entrance."

"So much death," the king said. "What can Men do against such reckless hate?"

"Ride out with me. Ride out and meet them."

"For death and glory."

"For Rohan. For your people."

"The sun is rising," Gimli noted as the sun peeked through a window.

"Yes. Yes! The horn of Helm Hammerhand shall sound in the deep one last time! Let this be the hour when we draw swords together. Fell deeds awake. Now for wrath! Now for ruin! And a red dawn!"

"Oh, please," Drifter grumbled while mounting Aragorn's horse behind him. "Enough of the drama. Aragorn, if I happen to disappear from this spot at some point, it is because there is no way I am going to risk stabbing you in the back."

"Forth Eorlingas!" As the Uruk-hai broke down the door, the riders charged down the ramp, killing as they went.

"Gandalf," the girl heard Aragorn whisper after she had slipped off of the horse and looked up the hill to see Gandalf at the top, soon joined by an army of the Riders of Rohan. When the reinforcements joined the fight, the orc numbers were greatly reduced. Upon seeing that victory was imminent, Drifter felt a new wave of anger erupt within her, causing her to charge into one of the few still-standing clumps of Uruks.

(Éomer)

Most of the remaining Uruk-hai were rushing into the nearby forest which was normally not there, closely followed by the Riders.

"Stay out of the forest!" Éomer called. "Keep away from the trees!" As the last of the Uruks disappeared, the trees began groaning and shaking and the enemies could be could screaming for their lives, though not one made it out. Éomer then turned to finish off the last orcs; however, when he reached the spot, he noticed that all of the creatures were dead, although none of the soldiers paid them any heed. Dismounting from his steed, a movement on the stairs at his right caught his eye. The movement turned out to be a battle-worn maiden, but he was unable to identify her further as she disappeared to the other side of the battlement. Curious, he followed her. Knowing his uncle, why would Théoden let a woman fight?

"Tae o thol vaeli ail paer, tia mela (May you find peace in death, my love)," the woman was whispering to a prostrate elf on the ground with her back turned to Éomer. It was not until she turned to face him that he recognized her as the woman from several days before. The woman who had seemed familiar, yet not: Drifter.

"I apologize, my lady. My curiosity got the better of me." Drifter's eyes beheld tears which were threatening to fall, but she was clearly refusing to let them do so.

"It's alright, my lord," she replied. "If you will excuse me." After Drifter had walked away, the Man realized why she seemed familiar, although it was a foolish thought.

(Drifter)

-First, he eyes me…now, he's following me!-

The woman was tired…mentally, physically, and every other way. After that day, there was nothing left of her heart. It felt as if the last of it had died with Haldir. Rounding a corner, she found Legolas and Gimli talking.

"Final count…forty-two," the elf bragged, checking his bow.

"Forty-two?" the dwarf queried, smoking his pipe and sitting on dead orc with his ax sticking out of its skull. "Oh, that's not bad for a pointy-eared elvish princeling. I myself am sitting pretty on forty-three." Suddenly, Legolas shot an arrow into the orc between Gimli's legs.

"Forty-three."

"He was already dead."

"He was twitching."

"He was twitching because he's got my ax embedded in his nervous system!" Drifter laughed as Gimli wiggled his weapon around and made the orc underneath him twitch furiously, causing the two friends to look at her.

"Do you care to add your count to the tally?"

"Oh, I don't want to brag," the girl stated, though her smile was a dead giveaway, "but, I suppose…fifty-one."

"Why you little…" Gimli growled, making the other two laugh at his frustration.

"Come, let us go find Gandalf," Legolas suggested.

After wandering around for some time, the group finally met up with Gandalf, Aragorn, Théoden, and Éomer. The wizard told them to mount horses and follow him up the hill. Éomer offered a place for Drifter on his horse, but she pointedly hopped up behind Aragorn, to the other Man's clear disappointment. Once on top of the hill, facing east, the light of Mount Doom in Mordor could be seen in the distance.

"Sauron's wrath will be terrible, his retribution swift," Gandalf stated. "The battle for Helm's Deep is over. The battle for Middle-Earth is about to begin. All our hopes now lie with two little hobbits, somewhere in the wilderness. Well! Shall we go complete this victory, Théoden?"

"Yes," the king replied. "I have put Éowyn in charge for their journey home, so we can head directly back to Edoras after this venture."

As the group began the short trip to Isengard, Drifter rested her head against Aragorn's back and closed her eyes.

"_Alright, child, try aiming for the target on the right this time."_

_As soon as the words were out of the ranger's mouth, the twelve-year-old girl quickly nocked an arrow and released it, precisely hitting the mark twenty-five feet away._

"_Perfect!" Arathorn praised._

"_Arathorn?" Gilraen softly queried, coming out of the nearby house with a small, brown-haired boy in her arms. "I need to speak with you." The smile faded from the Man's face before he replied,_

"_What is it, darling?"_

_The couple quickly walked into the house, leaving the girl to unstring her bow, using the action as a hideaway for the worry she felt. Arathorn soon came out, carrying a full saddle-bag, and trotted to the stables. _

"_What is going on?" the girl asked with innocent curiosity. Her charge did not answer. Instead, he began saddling his wife's horse. "Please, tell me." The ranger finally stopped what he was doing, tears evident in his eyes._

"_She senses evil nearby, child. We discussed it and decided that the safest place for Aragorn would be in Imladris."_

_Minutes later, the trained and the trainer were watching Gilraen ride off into the forest._

"Drifter," Aragorn addressed the woman behind him, who shook her head to eliminate the slight exhaustion which had crept over her. "This carving," the Man went on, "it is indeed a puzzle. I recognize Poraes (Drifter) and Falathiel (Huntress), which gives me reason to believe that all of these inscriptions are your names and titles."

"Aside from my real one, yes."

"What do the rest mean?"

"Parn os Tael (Dawn of Men) and Vaelor Baerdaer os Tael (Precious Jewel of Men) are the titles I acquired while living among the rangers along with your father. Anoron tuulo' i' mori en' 'ksh (Dawn from the dark of evil) is the inscription on my sword. Thas salaelaes (far traveler) is a name I gained in Gondor. And Minuialwen, my elvish name, in a roundabout way, means Dawn."

"I noticed that you dislike it when people call you by that name."

"It simply reminds me of what I am, as if I don't think about it every single day. Lord Elrond gave it to me when I was a small child of probably five years, the first time I visited Rivendell with my parents. I thought you weren't going to ask questions any more?"

"Sorry…" Drifter smiled, but she did not feel happy in any way. Part of her was beginning to fade and she could feel it.

Thanks for reading! Ok…for anyone that doesn't have an account, but still wants to vote in my poll…I have made it so that those of you without accounts can review my story. If you want, you can simply tell me in a review what you want to vote for, and I can put the vote on for you. I've never done it that way, so I'm not completely sure if it will work. Either way, please review! The next chapter will start at the beginning of Return of the King.


	15. Arguments and Worries

Thanks Safrina, Lady Lea, memory bleeds, Lift the Wings, and Pissenoffanis for your reviews!

Arguments and Worries

By midday of the next day, the group was nearing the walls of Isengard.

"Only, you've never done a hard day's work," a familiar voice said ahead, followed by a joyous laugh. Drifter looked around Aragorn, her eyes wide with shock.

"Welcome, my lords," Merry welcomed them, "…and my lady…to Isengard!"

"You're drunk!" Drifter exclaimed at the same time Gimli cried,

"You young rascals! A merry hunt you've led us on and now we find you feasting and…and smoking!"

"We are sitting on a field of victory enjoying a few well-earned comforts," Pippin corrected drunkenly. "The salted pork is particularly good."

"Salted pork…" the dwarf wondered, his anger clearly smoothed over by the mention of food; however, Drifter was not the least impressed by the halflings' humor as she got off of the horse and stood in front of where the hobbits were.

"Hobbits…" Gandalf grumbled.

Ignoring the woman's glare, Merry went on,

"We're under orders from Treebeard, who's taken over management of Isengard." Then, the hobbit finally noticed Drifter. "What?"

"I've been through who knows what to find you, and all you have to say is what?" the girl growled, but giving hint to a smile.

"I see you've gained a bit of humor since we last saw you, if it's not a bit dry." Suddenly, the hobbits jumped off the crumbling wall, partially tackling Drifter, though not enough to knock her down. "We're sure glad you made it out alright after…what happened." The smile faded from the woman's face as she lifted Pippin onto Aragorn's horse and, again pointedly, Merry with Éomer. She then let Gandalf help her onto Shadowfax behind him. As they approached the tower of Orthanc, Drifter noticed the flotsam and jetsam floating in the two feet of muddy water. Treebeard, standing in front of the building, hadn't changed since the woman's brief meeting with him years before.

"Hoooom, young master Gandalf," the ent addressed the new White Wizard, "I'm glad you've come. Wood and water, stock and stone I can master, but there is a wizard to manage here locked in his tower."

"Be careful," Gandalf warned his companions. "Even in defeat, Saruman is dangerous."

"Well then, let's just have his head and be done with it," Gimli suggested, an idea that Drifter completely agreed with, though she did not say anything.

"No, we need him alive. We need him to talk."

"You have fought many wars and slain many men, Théoden King and made peace afterwards," a deep voice spoke from the tower's top, followed by the appearance of Saruman himself. "Can we not take counsel together as we once did, my old friend? Can we not have peace, you and I?"

"We shall have peace," the king replied, "…We shall have peace when you answer for the burning of the Westfold and the children that lie dead there! We shall have peace when the lives of the soldiers whose bodies were hewn even as they lay dead against the gates of the Hornburg…are avenged! When you hang from a gibbet for the sport of you own crows…we shall have peace!"

"Gibbets and crows! Dotard! What do you want, Gandalf Grahame? Let me guess…the key of Orthanc? Or perhaps the keys of Barad Dûr itself? Along with the crowns of the seven Kings and the rods of the Five Wizards!"

"Your treachery has already cost many lives," Gandalf responded, unruffled. "Thousands more are now at risk. But you could save them, Saruman. You were deep in the enemy's counsel."

"So you have come here for information. I have some for you." At that, the traitor lifted a black stone up for all to see: the Palantir. "Something festers in the heart of Middle-Earth. Something that you have failed to see. But the great Eye has seen it! Even now, he presses his advantage. His attack will come soon. You are all going to die! But you know this, don't you, Gandalf? You cannot think that this Ranger will ever sit upon the throne of Gondor. This exile, crept from the shadows will never be crowned King." Saruman's eye then caught sight of Drifter. "Ah, so the Dawn of Men has indeed slipped from the clutches of darkness. Does Gandalf think that having you will even his odds…two rangers instead of one, is that how it is? Gandalf does not hesitate to sacrifice those who are closest to him…those he professes to love! Tell me, what words of comfort did you give the halfling before you sent him to his doom? The path that you have set him on can only lead to death."

"I've heard enough!" Gimli growled from behind Legolas. "Shoot him! Stick an arrow in his gob!"

"No!" Gandalf once again argued. "Come down, Saruman, and your life will be spared!"

"Save you pity and your mercy. I have no use for it!" Drifter cringed as Saruman directed a bolt of fire at her and her companion; however, Gandalf luckily protected both himself and her from the destructive heat.

"Saruman," Gandalf stated calmly, "…your staff is broken!" The woman breathed a sigh of relief as Saruman's staff burst into splinters, but her chest once again tightened upon seeing Wormtongue appear next to their enemy.

"Gríma!" Théoden called. "You need not follow him! You were not always as you are now. You were once a man of Rohan. Come down."

"A man of Rohan?" Saruman chided. "What is the house of Rohan but a thatched barn where brigands drink in the reek and their brats roll on the floor with the dogs? The victory of Helm's Deep does not belong to you, Théoden Horse-Master. You are a lesser son of greater sires!"

"Gríma…Come down! Be free of him!"

"Free? He will never be free! Get down cur!" he finished, slapping Wormtongue to the ground.

"Saruman!" Gandalf continued. "You were deep in the Enemy's counsel. Tell us what you know!"

"You withdraw your guard and I will tell you where your doom will be decided. I will not be held prisoner here!" Just as the words left the wizard's mouth, Gríma began stabbing him from behind. As Saruman fell, Legolas took advantage of the situation and shot Gríma. After Saruman's body had impaled itself on a spiked wheel nearby, Gandalf simply told Théoden,

"Send word to all our allies and to every corner of Middle-Earth that still stands free. The enemy moves against us. We need to know where he will strike."

"The filth of Saruman is washing away," Treebeard contentedly said. "Trees will come back to live here, young trees, wild trees."

"Pippin!" Gandalf suddenly cried in alarm as the young hobbit jumped from his perch and picked up Palantir from the water. Pippin was staring into the stone when the wizard approached him and insisted, "Peregrin Took, I'll take that my lad. Quickly now!" After Gandalf had retrieved the Palantir, Drifter lowered herself into the water to help Pippin mount Aragorn's horse once again.

"Ah, little mistress far traveler!" Treebeard exclaimed. "You have not changed since our brief encounter but a short time ago."

"Perhaps not outwardly," the woman replied climbing back onto Shadowfax. "It was good to see you, Treebeard."

"What about the promise you gave to me? Have you found the Entwives, yet?"

"I am afraid not…but I promise you that, if I am still alive when this is over, I will scour all of Middle-Earth to find them."

"You have my thanks."

As soon as they had emerged from Fangorn, the companions urged their horses to a gallop for several hours before Edoras finally came into view.

--

Once inside the city, Drifter went directly to the chambers offered to her…anything to avoid Éomer, who had taken up the habit of watching her when it seemed that she would not notice. The woman instantly went for a bath, coming out a half an hour later back into her room, brushing her hair. The moment she set the comb down on her bedside table, she heard a knock at the door. After checking to make sure that the tie on her light blue robe was secure, Drifter opened the door to reveal Éowyn.

"I'm sorry to disturb you," the other woman said, "but I have few questions."

Drifter tried not to wince as Éowyn's apology reminded her of what Clorissa had said at Combe, what seemed, so long ago…before the future events Drifter had seen in Galadriel's Mirror had come true.

"No…apology necessary, Éowyn," she stated, admitting the woman of Rohan. After sitting down on the bed, the fair-haired maiden continued.

"Who is the woman Aragorn received the necklace he wears from? He said that she was sailing to the Undying Lands; however, my elvish knowledge is limited."

"He spoke of the Lady Arwen Evenstar, daughter of Lord Elrond. They fell in love years ago, but neither Aragorn nor Elrond wish for her to give up her mortality, for slightly different reasons, of course. Knowing Arwen and her stubbornness, she probably won't leave Middle-Earth...I hope."

"You know her well?"

"Though Aragorn may not know me, I know both of them extremely well."

"What are the odds that…Arwen…will leave? I mean…with the wishes of her father to leave…"

"Fine, Éowyn, I admit that I don't know and that there is a very good chance she will eventually listen to Elrond."

"Then…is he…I mean…could…" Éowyn stumbled over her words until Drifter interrupted.

"Can you leap for the opportunity? Win his heart? Go ahead! But you will not have my support." Her last words were like ice, causing the other woman to back away towards the door. Clearing her throat, Éowyn whispered,

"One last thing…there is a celebration for the victory in an hour. Théoden invites you."

Immediately after the thick wooden door clicked shut, Drifter flew to the bed, stuffed her face into a pillow, and screamed as loud as she could, enjoying the fact that the sound was muffled. A moment later, she stood, smoothed her hair, and went to the closet. When she had first laid eyes on Éowyn, she never imagined that the girl could be so persistent and frustrating, even to a ninety-seven year old mixed breed.

Fifteen minutes later, Drifter emerged from her quarters, wearing a forest green, ankle-length dress, much like the one she had worn in Rivendell, except that the fabric was not quite so soft or rich in color, and the sleeves were tighter. Although she went in the direction of the Hall for the celebration, the girl carried her elvish cloak on her arm, for she did not intend to stand around all night in a crowd. Meandering through the many corridors of the palace, Drifter finally stepped across the threshold of the Hall. One of the few serving girls handed a wine-filled mug to her as Théoden lifted his goblet in a toast, along with the other people filling the spacious room.

"Tonight," the king stated, "we remember those who gave their blood to defend this country. Hail the victorious dead."

"Hail!" the people replied in unison. Hesitantly at first, Drifter chugged her wine before directing her feet towards the exit. Her eyes first caught sight of Gimli and Legolas taking part in a drinking contest. Normally, the sight would have made Drifter laugh uncontrollably, but she felt no joy in watching the two friends as she caught Éomer once again staring at her. Shaking her head furiously in disbelief, the woman began walking forward, but she then caught sight of Éowyn offering a goblet to Aragorn, who accepted the gesture. At that, Drifter raced out the front door, putting her cloak on as she went.

(Aragorn)

As he walked towards Gandalf, the Man noticed Drifter running towards the exit, donning her cloak on the way.

"No news of Frodo?" Aragorn quietly asked the wizard.

"No word. Nothing," was the worried reply.

"We have time. Every day, Frodo moves closer to Mordor."

"Do we know that?"

"What does your heart tell you?"

"That Frodo is alive. Yes…yes, he's alive." Suddenly, Gandalf looked particularly concerned as the door at the far end of the Hall shut behind Drifter. "Falathiel worries me."

"How so, old friend?"

"How would you feel…if you were ninety-seven years old and have lost nearly everything you ever loved? When she chooses to reveal her identity to the world, you will understand her better, Aragorn. Since this latest battle, something has changed about Falathiel for the worse. She may be three quarters human, but the elf part of her is beginning to fade."

"What makes you think that?"

"Look into her eyes, Aragorn, and tell me that nothing is different. Have you noticed how she shuns Éomer? Falathiel has loved three men in her life. One forgot her, and the others died right before her eyes. Now, she believes that she has no heart left to give, when, in reality, she is simply letting herself fade. Falathiel has convinced herself that she can simply let herself go after she has seen you on the throne, that there is no other reason to live…at least that is my guess. She may not even realize it."

"You seem to know her rather well." Gandalf chuckled.

"Indeed."

(Drifter)

The woman breathed in the fresh, cool air, calming her strained nerves. Legolas and Gimli were settling into the new lifestyle, Éomer was eyeballing her like a lovesick calf, Aragorn was getting himself wrapped around the finger of Théoden's niece, and Gandalf had hardly said a word to her since his return.

Drifter walked to the right side of the terrace, knelt down, and put her head in her hands, crying for first time Moria. Life would never be the same.

Thanks for reading! Please review! Don't forget to vote!

I really didn't mean to make Éomer seem like a stalker of any kind, but that's just sort of how it ended up. Drifter's view of him will get better...eventually. :)


	16. You Can't Remake the Past

Thanks Pissenoffanis, Safrina, Lift the Wings, Lucy, Lady Lea, Rushingriver, and memory bleeds for your reviews!

You Can't Remake the Past…

An hour later, Drifter was standing in the same place on the right side of the terrace when Legolas emerged from the Hall and went to the other side, having not noticed her. Knowing that the elf would be able hear her, the woman quietly said,

"Are you becoming so affected by the world of Men that your elvish senses are dulling?"

The elf slightly jumped upon hearing the unexpected statement. As he strode to where Drifter was standing, he replied,

"No, but I think that drink is still affecting me."

"I see…" The girl shifted her weight. Having a conversation with her former fiancé was not how she had planned her night. Then, she realized how to take advantage of the situation. Yanking the chord loose from her neck, she offered the silver ring to Legolas, introducing the subject.

"I believe this is yours. It is the last link to my past with you…the engagement ring you gave to me…" The prince was staring at the reflective loop of metal in his open palm.

"Drifter, I…I'm…" Drifter smiled sadly as Legolas stuttered for the first time since she had met him.

"You have no need to be sorry, Legolas…my disappearance from Imladris all those years ago was our bane. I knew that, but I never realized the magnitude of it. After what I saw in Galadriel's Mirror the first time I traveled there…I saw that you would forget me, fall in love with another, but I refused to believe. Not only that…I knew that I would lose Boromir and Haldir."

"How?"

"I told you…the Mirror." Minutes went by while Legolas continued studying the ring and Drifter looked to the west, wishing for some flicker of hope in that direction, remembering the dream Boromir had spoken of at the Council so long ago, the one in which he had seen the pale light in the west. Finally the elf spoke.

"I still do not understand why I remember nothing of you before our encounter at the Council."

"Neither do I."

"Drifter, I may not remember, but I still…"

"No!" the woman hissed with sudden vehemence. "You do not love me any more, Legolas! Do not ruin the life you have made for yourself because of some flash of emotion. Besides, I would die before hurting Miluiel like that. She loves you more than anything Legolas." Her voice changed from a tone of anger to almost begging. "Please don't hurt her to try chasing after me. You are no longer anything more than a friend and wonderful companion…though you may haunt my dreams forever, we do not belong together." Again, the emotion changed, this time to utter sorrow. "I don't where I belong. The only things that I can be sure of are that my place is not with you and that I must see Aragorn to the throne. After that…" The sadness was overwhelming. Drifter had lost everything. Her parents, lovers, everything…

Again, she collapsed onto her knees, gasping to hold back the tears threatening to fall. When Legolas knelt beside her and made a move to put his arm around her shaking shoulders, she bolted up and ran down the stairs of the Hall, mentally challenging him to follow her, though relieved to find that he did not. Drifter flew into the stable and leapt onto Shadowfax, who seemed to sense her feeling of urgency as he bolted out of the building, through the foolishly still open gate, and towards the never-ending plains in the south.

(Legolas)

The elf wasn't quite sure what to do. He did not know whether he needed to remain in his place or do something to stop Drifter as she fled with Shadowfax into the night. Finally, he settled on walking back to the east-facing part of the terrace with the hood of his cloak up.

--

Some time before dawn, Aragorn came to join him.

"The stars are veiled," Legolas whispered. "Something stirs in the east, a sleepless malice. The Eye of the enemy is moving, again."

"Again?" the Man queried.

"It moved a while ago, but paused just as I felt its presence look to this land."

"Where is Drifter? I looked in her room, but she was nowhere to be found."

"She left some time ago."

"Left? Where? Why?"

"On Shadowfax…I've never seen her so…troubled before. She went south." The two friends were quiet for some time. Clearly, neither one of them knew what to do about their female companion's unexpected disappearance. Suddenly, Legolas felt a presence and turned to Aragorn. "He is here!"

The elf and Man raced to the room where most of the guests were sleeping on the floor and burst in.

"Help him!" Merry called as Pippin rolled around on the floor with the glowing Palantir in his hands.

(Drifter)

The woman sat next to a creek at the foot of one of the mountains southwest of Edoras, shivering. Blood belonging to her and the foe she had just encountered was splattered about on the rocks and logs. She was not trembling so much from any wounds she bore, but more from the appearance and words of her enemy. It only happened a few moments before, though Drifter felt as if an eternity had passed as she played the scene over in her mind.

_Only ten minutes after leaving, Drifter and her temporary steed had already made it to the borders of Rohan._

"_Easy, Shadowfax," she whispered to the horse after he had slowed to a stop in front of a pretty little creek: the perfect place to think in peace. Sliding off of Shadowfax, she turned to the magnificent steed and addressed it, "Please return to Edoras. I will call you if I am in need." After watching the amazing creature trot back into the trees, the woman sat down and closed her eyes. Much of her sorrow and anger began to melt away into the silence, gladly. Before joining the Fellowship, Drifter barely had any contact with very many people, making her used to being alone and actually find it comforting. The lack of civilization around her made the woman realize how unnaturally tense she had been for some time. The foreign noise of pressurized wind caused Drifter to open her eyes in confusion. A huge black shape was descending towards the ground near her. Though it was too dark to distinguish whether or not the thing saw her, she could feel the presence of it watching her like a hawk. An emotion she was not very familiar with crept into her mind as a smaller figure leaped down from the originally noted one: fear._

"_My master wishes to see you," the Nazgûl stated. Its voice sent chills down her spine, but she defiantly faced it, with her head high. _

_-I can't believe I left my sword! Plus my bow!-_

"_You may tell your master, the pathetic and cowardly Sauron the foolish, that he can send his entire mutated army after me as well as the rest of your friends before I will even consider taking one step closer to Mordor at this moment or any other time."_

"_You have no need to travel to Mordor," the wraith eerily replied with a hissing laugh. Suddenly, Drifter felt an overwhelming presence, which forced her to her knees as she saw the flaming Eye within her mind._

"_You will come to me and Elessar will be vanquished," a haunting voice growled. She somehow knew that it was Sauron's voice she was hearing, but she had never imagined that he could speak to her or anyone. _

"_No!" she screamed, pushing back at the presence with all of the elvish strength she could muster and forcing herself to stand, though her whole body was wracked with tremors of exhaustion. "What do you want?!" she yelled at the wraith, attempting to cloak her words of any emotion other than anger._

"_If you are in the hands of the great Sauron, the heir of Elendil will be…easily persuaded, and his pitiful family will no longer trouble the great lord of the dark. Now," the former Man finalized, pulling his massive sword from its scabbard, "you will come with me." _

"_You will have to kill me first," Drifter replied, drawing the two daggers from her boots. _

"_Very well." As the fight commenced, the woman knew that, without her sword, she was hardly a match for the undead phantom she had challenged. She barely blocked a blow from its sword with both of her daggers before she swung her right hand around to slice the creature's side, being quick enough to not be touched by the Black Breath. The Nazgûl screeched in pain and surprise as it momentarily retreated._

"_Never underestimate an elvish blade," the girl stated as she raced over to the recovering creature's steed and buried one of her daggers into the flesh of its neck. It roared in annoyance and simply retaliated by twitching its massive neck, throwing Drifter into the creek. Shocked by how quick her enemy's ride had been, she had no time to recover when the wraith stood next to her at full height. Knowing that her foe would not let her just walk away, the woman lashed out with her weapon at the Nazgûl's ankle, spattering more of its blood on the stones. It responded by walking around to creek-facing side of her and kicking her into the air with one of its pointed metal shoes. The impact and pain of the punctured skin and bruised ribs were plenty to knock the air out of Drifter. With blood seeping through her clothes, she weakly stood, flashes of the memory of Boromir's last brave moments going through her mind and giving her strength. After throwing her dagger at the hidden face of her enemy, the woman took the daggers from her belt and furiously lashed out. The Nazgûl, just looking back from knocking the thrown knife aside, didn't have time to tighten the hold on its sword before the ranger cut it off, along with its left hand. As Drifter twisted around for another attack, the wraith drew his secondary weapon and sliced her side. With a grunt of pain, she fell to the ground, but instantly jumped back up, only to receive a cut shoulder. She had had enough. With final resolve, she threw both weapons into the creature's chest. Screaming, the Nazgûl ripped the daggers out its chest and stabbed Drifter in leg prior to racing to his steed and flying off into the night, leaving the woman on her knees, facing the creek._

As Drifter shook herself to stay conscious, she realized that an hour had passed since those events had occurred. Looking at her leg where the short sword was still lodged, she reached to pull it out, gritting her teeth in agony as the metal was removed. Taking the dagger from her sleeve, the girl pulled the skirt of her dress up to reveal her pale, bloody skin and worked her thin knife into the wound. Though the pain was practically unbearable, she finally managed to coax the sword tip from her leg, tossing it aside as soon as it was in her hand.

"I hate Morgul blades," the girl growled, dragging herself to a nearby log, sitting against it, and ripping a strip of cloth from her sleeve to tie it around her leg and stop the bleeding. She was losing more blood after extracting the piece of metal from her thigh, but, if she had left it there…She shivered at the thought of it reaching her heart and her turning into a wraith. Closing her eyes from pain and fatigue, Drifter faded out of consciousness.

(Aragorn)

"What did you tell him about Frodo and the Ring?" the wizard interrogatingly questioned the frightened Pippin on the floor. After a moment, the hobbit whispered,

"Nothing."

"Did you see anything else?"

"Yes…"

"What?"

"I saw Drifter…she was fighting a…a wraith…"

Gandalf instantly turned on the Man and elf.

"Where is Falathiel?" The two friends were stunned.

"Uh, well," Legolas stuttered before Aragorn came to his aid.

"She left some time ago, on Shadowfax, going south. Should we go after her?"

"No," the wizard replied, though he was clearly troubled. "No, we cannot risk it. Falathiel must get herself out of this situation if what Pippin says is happening right now. For all we know, she may be perfectly safe and it may just be wishful thinking of the Enemy."

"But how could Sauron know of Drifter?" Legolas queried.

"She is more than she appears to be. Sauron is probably trying to get his hands on her to manipulate Aragorn." The Man looked up from Pippin upon hearing his. "If the Enemy knows of Falathiel, then he knows that she is friends with his most feared enemy of the moment and will do anything to weaken him. But, you must be strong Aragorn. Though evil has made it difficult for me and any other being of power to see far, I can sense that Falathiel is alive and still in Rohan. Fear not and do not let thoughts of her cloud your mind of what must be done."

(Drifter)

The woman awoke on a soft couch in a dim room. All of her pain was gone, she noticed, as she sat up and looked to the blond-haired, tall maiden standing a few feet away.

"Galadriel?" Drifter guessed as the Lady of Light turned to her. The girl realized that the room was in a tree in Lotholorien. "I suppose I'm still unconscious and wounded in Rohan and you're simply using your power to communicate with me?" The lady kindly smiled.

"You are right, but you cannot give up, Falathiel, for your road does not end here."

"I know, but it will take at least three days for my wounds to heal enough to fight, even with my herbs…I'll be dead by then with the combination of wounds, wet, cold, and lack of food."

"You are strong. Like your mother, you will not let yourself give up without fighting for every last breath. Falathiel, I will see what I can do, but I have the feeling that help will not come to you for a few more days. Stay safe until then. May the blessings of all elves keep you from further harm."

Drifter woke with a slight moan. It was already late morning and the blood on her clothes had dried. She went through her list of priorities while working her way to the creek. First, she would need to clean and bandage her wounds somehow and get water; second, build a shelter; and third, find food. Simple enough, though the injuries would get in her way.

--

By the time night had fallen, Drifter was sitting just inside the trees next to small, crackling fire with a meat-bearing makeshift spit hanging over it. If she continued having such luck with rabbits, she would not go hungry indefinitely. She resisted the urge to scratch at her bandages. With the lack of her bag, Drifter had been forced to rip off part of her dress's skirt, making it the length of her travel dress, and use strips of that for wrapping her injuries. Looking down at the dagger in her hand, the woman scratched off the last bit of wraith blood from the blade. She had only been able to retrieve four of her knives. The other one had left with the Nazgûl, still stuck in the winged creature's neck.

--

(Gandalf)

It had been over a day since their departure from Edoras. Not surprisingly, Shadowfax had brought the wizard and hobbit to Minas Tirith in only a day, when it would have normally taken three. As Gandalf stood on a balcony, smoking his pipe and staring to the east, Pippin was behind him studying the ceremonial articles given to him by Denethor. Shockingly, the steward had known not only of Aragorn, but Falathiel as well.

"So, I imagine this is just a ceremonial position," the halfling stated. "I mean, they don't actually expect me to do any fighting…do they?"

"You're in the service of the steward, now. You'll have to do as you are told, Peregrin Took," the wizard replied as he began coughing from the excess smoke of his pipe. "Ridiculous hobbit! Guard of the Citadel! Oh, thank you," he finished as Pippin handed him a cup of water.

"There's no more stars! Is it time?"

"Yes."

"It's so quiet."

"It's the deep breath before the plunge."

"I don't want to be in a battle. But waiting on the edge of one I can't escape is even worse. Is there any hope, Gandalf, for Frodo and Sam?"

"There never was much hope…just a fool's hope. Our enemy is ready. His full strength's gathered. Not only orcs, but Men as well. Legions of Haradrim from the south, mercenaries from the coast. All will answer Mordor's call. This will be the end of Gondor as we know it. Here the hammer stroke will fall hardest. If the river is taken, if the garrison at Osgiliath falls, the last defense of this city will be gone."

"But we have the White Wizard. That's got to count for something. Gandalf?"

"Sauron has yet to show his deadliest servant: the one who will lead Mordor's army in war, the one they say no living man can kill. The Witch King of Angmar…you've met him before. He stabbed Frodo on Weathertop. He is the lord of the Nazgûl. The greatest of the nine. I can only hope that he is not the one you saw in that vision fighting Falathiel."

--

(Drifter)

Three days had passed since her departure from Edoras and Drifter was still waiting for the "help" Galadriel had promised. Her wounds had already started to heal, for the most part, and she was becoming impatient, promising herself that she would begin traveling the next day if Galadriel's promised aid did not come.

As the woman slept, she was suddenly awakened by the sound of hooves on the creek bed rocks. Though she hid behind a tree, the rider turned to her as soon as he had dismounted.

"Galadriel told me that you would be here, so there's no use in hiding, Falathiel." Coming into the open, Drifter smiled.

"So, you finally decided to come, did you now, Lord Elrond?" As she softly laughed in relief, her wounds gave her another wave of pain. She may have been able to remove the piece of the Morgul blade, but eliminating its poisonous effects was completing different. Removing the bandage over the girl's leg and examining it, Elrond noted,

"I'm surprised that you were able to last this long. This wound is not shallow."

"I wrapped it up the best I could, but, even with the healing herbs, it's been slow going."

"I will need some time to heal it. We can probably leave by tomorrow."

"That brings to mind…why are you here? Shouldn't you be heading off to the Grey Havens?" The elf hesitated before walking to his horse and returning with a long, wrapped…something.

"Arwen decided to stay. If she is to live, I must give Men the best chance I can," Elrond replied, revealing a sword.

"Narsil!"

"Actually, Andúril, the Flame of the West, to be precise."

"You reforged it!"

"Yes…Falathiel, are you alright?" Drifter had sat down, staring at her hands.

"I promised to put him on the throne, and now…The reason I'm not with him, helping to put him on the throne is because I ran here, because I couldn't handle my own pathetic problems!"

"Falathiel!" the great leader chided, bending down to the woman. "You cannot dwell on the past. Like you have always said, what's done is done."

Thanks for reading! Please review! And don't forget the poll!


	17. So Look Ahead

Thanks Safrina and Lift the Wings for your reviews!

…So Look Ahead

Another two days had passed since Elrond's arrival. By the time Drifter awoke, the sun was already high in the sky.

"I knew that you would need rest after I had healed you," the elf stated, sitting next to the fire, "but I never realized you would sleep this long."

"You try being three quarters human and having the elvish tendency to not sleep," the girl grumbled, stretching to test Elrond's healing work.

"Like Frodo, that wound in your leg will never completely heal. You will always carry it with you."

"Will it hinder my traveling or fighting abilities?"

"…no, but…"

"Then I really don't care," she finished casually prior to stalking off for a bath in the cold stream. Less than half an hour later, Drifter had scrubbed the last of the dried blood from her body and proceeded to dry herself. Slipping the tattered dress back over her head, she picked up her daggers and was about to return to Elrond when her eyes caught sight of her reflection in the crystal water. She was no longer a fair maiden girl with a limited knowledge of the world, but a ranger woman. Her once gleaming golden hair had become a limp, light brown veil of slightly frizzed curls due to the lack of recent care; her eyes, once bright and hopeful, had turned to deep pools of wisdom proclaiming untold tales of suffering; and her countenance in general…before leaving Rivendell for the second time she remembered, the girl would have never recognized the experienced warrior/ranger staring straight back at her. Shaking her head, Drifter scolded herself for such random thoughts. Looking back was for another time. At that moment, she needed to determine what she was going to do about the impending near future. By the time she reached the campsite, Elrond was already waiting with the horse and holding her cloak and belt out for her to take. Gratefully retrieving her possessions, Drifter happily took the offered hand in getting onto the steed. After the elf had mounted in front of her, they were on their way to save the world of Men. The horse was not nearly as fast as Shadowfax, so it took them an hour before they reached the plains, where Elrond turned south.

"Where are you going?" the girl asked. "Edoras is the other way."

"During the day and a half that you slept, they traveled to Dunharrow to prepare for the journey to aid Gondor."

"So, they finally decided to do something."

"It seems so." Silence reigned between the elf lord and ranger until evening, when they reached the halfway point and Elrond stopped to rest the horse. After watering their ride and letting it graze, they once again began traveling.

"We should reach Dunharrow in a few hours," Elrond stated.

Once again, they were silent even as the campfires of the Men of Rohan came into view long after dark. The elf eased his horse to a slow walk as they approached the steep switchback leading up to a flat field covered with the tents of some of the Men, including those of their leaders. The majority was at the bottom of the mountain. As the two friends approached the tent of the king, Drifter checked to make sure that her hood was up and looked to the mountain, where dwelt the undead Pukel men of old. Théoden jerked up from studying a map on the table in the middle of the tent.

"Who are you and what do you want?" he asked hostilely before seeing the newcomers' hidden faces. "Falathiel? You're alive!"

"From what I can tell," the woman calmly replied.

"And who is your silent friend?"

"He is the Lord Elrond of Rivendell." The king was speechless, yet suspicious.

"I bring news, warning, and hope for Men," the elf said. "I wish to speak with Aragorn."

Théoden hesitated before finally calling a soldier in to send for Aragorn. There was an uncomfortable silence until the Man finally entered. He did not nearly look as intimidating without his weapons, vest, and cloak.

"I take my leave," the king stated, almost eagerly vacating the premises.

"My lord Elrond!" Aragorn exclaimed as the elf removed his hood.

"I come on behalf of one whom I love," was the utterly serious response. "Arwen is dying. She will not long survive the evil that now spreads from Mordor. The light of the Evenstar is failing. As Sauron's power grows, her strength wanes. Arwen's life is now tied to the fate of the Ring. The Shadow is upon us, Aragorn. The end has come."

"It will not be our end, but his."

"You ride to war, but not to victory. Sauron's armies ride on Minas Tirith, this you know. But, in secret, he sends another force, which will attack from the river. A fleet of Corsair ships sails from the south. They will be in the city in two days. You're outnumbered, Aragorn. You need more men."

"There are none."

"There are those that dwell in the mountain."

"Murderers, traitors. You would call upon them to fight? They believe in nothing. They answer to no one."

"They will answer to the King of Gondor," Elrond corrected, revealing the Sword. "Andúril, the Flame of the West, forged from the shards of Narsil."

"Sauron will not have forgotten the sword of Elendil." Aragorn looked more like a king than ever when he pulled Andúril from its scabbard. "The blade that was broken shall return to Minas Tirith."

"The man who can wield the power of this sword can summon to him an army more deadly than any that walks this earth. Put aside the Ranger. Become who you were born to be. Ónen i-Estel Edain (I gave hope to the Dunedain)," Elrond quoted from the inscription of Gilraen's tomb."

"Ú-chebin Estel anim (I have kept no hope for myself)," Aragorn finished, returning the weapon to its sheath.

The Man did not notice the woman sitting on the bench nearby until Elrond had left.

"Drifter?" The girl quickly swiped the hood away from her face. She hadn't realized that it was still shadowing her features. "Drifter, we feared the worst!"

"Does 'we' mean everyone, or just those of you who have always underestimated me?"

"Alright, I admit that it was mainly me, Legolas, and Gimli, but what happened?"

Drifter paused. She could still hear the screams of the wraith, feel the freshly cut wounds.

"I just needed time to think without people calling on me for aid. Soon after I arrived at what seemed to be a quiet and cool place…I was confronted by a Ring Wraith."

"You should be dead!"

"Why? You faced three wraiths practically by yourself on Weathertop. What makes you think that I couldn't have survived one?"

"Well, for one thing, I had fire and a sword. You had neither your sword, nor your arrows."

"Ah, so you noticed that, did you? By the way, did you happen to bring them along?"

"Everyone was so busy preparing, so…no, not that I know of…Oh, Drifter, I'm so glad you're alright." Suddenly, Drifter found herself enveloped in Aragorn's embrace. "Gandalf told me that Sauron wanted to capture you and use you against me."

The woman hadn't felt quite so cared for in a long time. Pulling herself away from the Man, she said with spite,

"Sauron is not nearly as strong as he would make himself seem. The Eye's gaze found me before I began battling the wraith. He tried intimidating me, but I pushed him away. Even so, I've never heard a sound so full of hatred and lust than his voice."

"Drifter, are you going to travel with me to the Paths of the Dead? You don't have to."

"Yes, I do. Before we leave, I should get some clothes that aren't covered with blood."

"Very well. I will meet you at the pass entrance."

"Five minutes."

The ranger quietly trotted towards the tent where she knew clothes would be: Éowyn's.

"Falathiel?!" the woman exclaimed upon seeing Drifter.

"Éowyn, do you have something I can wear other than these rags?"

"Yes…in fact, I brought your own clothes, at least your dress and vest," Éowyn replied, handing the maroon travel garb and long blue vest to Drifter. When the ranger removed her cloak to change, the other woman's face was clouded with suspicion as she walked outside.

A few minutes later, Drifter walked out towards the mountain pass. Éowyn was confronting Aragorn, who was standing beside his horse, Brego.

"Do you not know," the lady of Rohan was whispering.

"It is but a shadow and a thought that you love," Aragorn replied, brushing his hand against Éowyn's cheek as Drifter slowly and silently approached. "I cannot give you what you seek. I have wished you joy since first I saw you."

Drifter glared at Éowyn as she passed by her prior to following Aragorn.

"Just where do you think you're off to?" Gimli queried.

"Not this time," Aragorn answered. "This time you must stay, Gimli."

"Have you learned nothing of the stubbornness of dwarves?" Legolas suddenly asked, coming up behind the Man with another horse.

"You might as well accept it," the dwarf advised. "We're going with you, laddie."

"No, indeed. It's hard to separate you three, even though I'm invited to travel the Dimholt road and you are not," Drifter stated, causing her voice to mimic Elrond's as she stepped from the shadows.

"Drifter!" the elf softly cried. "I was afraid that you were dead!"

"That seems to be happening allot today."

"Haha! I knew you'd make it!" Gimli laughed.

"Let's go."

"First," Legolas interrupted, running off for a moment before coming back with Drifter's weapons, "…I believe you could use these."

"Thank you."

--

"What kind of army would linger in such a place?" the dwarf queried as the group rode through a barren canyon some time later.

"One that is cursed," the elf replied matter-of-factly. "Long ago, the Men of the mountains swore an oath to the last King of Gondor to come to his aid, to fight. But when the time came, when Gondor's need was dire, they fled, vanishing into the darkness of the mountain. And so Isildur cursed them, never to rest until they had fulfilled their pledge. 'Who shall call them from the grey twilight, the forgotten people? The heir of him to whom the oath they swore. From the north shall he come, need shall drive him. He shall pass the door to the Paths of the Dead.'"

"You forget, Legolas," Drifter pointed out, "that there is more to that prophecy: '…and though the Dead may reject the Man, the Dawn will bring them to their knees for the heir.'"

"Hmm…" Clearly, no one but the elf paid any attention.

The woman was the first to dismount from Aragorn's horse and walk into the dark trees.

"The very warmth of my blood seems stolen away," Gimli whispered. As they neared the mountain entrance, Legolas read the inscription.

"The way is shut. It was made by those who are dead and the dead keep it. The way is shut."

"Brego!" Aragorn called as the horses bolted away from the wind coming out of the cave. "I do not fear death!" he finished, stalking into the cave, soon followed by Legolas.

"Well this is a thing unheard of!" Gimli cried. "An elf will go underground, where a dwarf dare not. Oh, oh, I'd never hear the end of it."

As Drifter stepped through the doorway after the dwarf, she heard the voice of Galadriel distantly whisper behind her,

"The time is near…"

The unexpected statement, however, did not surprise the girl as she was used to that sort of thing occurring. With Aragorn in the lead and Drifter in the back, the four companions walked through the dark mist.

"What is it? What do you see?" Gimli muttered to the elf.

"I see shapes of Men and of horses," Legolas replied.

"Where?"

"Pale banners like shreds of cloud…spears rise like winter thickets through a shroud of mist. The Dead are following. They have been summoned."

"The Dead? Summoned? I knew that! Very good, very good."

"Gimli…" Drifter warned from behind him, causing him to realize that he and the woman had been left behind by the others.

"Legolas!" Rolling her eyes, the girl followed, soon catching up to where Aragorn was in the front. Ghostly white hands began to writhe around them and Gimli tried blowing them away. Both the man and woman then looked down, noticing the human skulls which lined the floor.

"Do not look down," Aragorn warned the others, though the dwarf instantly ignored the advice.

After running for some time, they emerged from the tunnel into a large, open space.

"Who enters my domain?" an eerie voice questioned, prior to the appearance of the translucent King of the Dead some twenty feet away.

"One who will have your allegiance," Aragorn boldly stated, sword in hand.

"The dead do not suffer the living to pass."

"You will suffer me!"

As the dead king cruelly laughed, his entire army and city appeared about the travelers.

"The way is shut! It was made by those who are dead and the dead keep it. The way is shut! Now, you must die!"

Legolas attempted to shoot the king with an arrow, but it harmlessly landed some ways away.

"I summon you to fulfill you oath!"

"None but the King of Gondor may command me!" the undead Man replied, to which Aragorn retaliated to the sudden attack and put his sword to the offender's throat. "That blade was broken!"

"It has been remade. Fight for us and regain you honor. What say you? What say you?"

"Ach! You waste your time, Aragorn," Gimli opinionated. "They had no honor in life and they have none now in death."

"I am Isildur's heir. Fight for me and I will hold your oaths fulfilled. What say you? You have my word! Fight and I will release you from this living death! What say you?"

"Stand, you traitors!" The army had begun to disappear. Desperate, Drifter ran up to the fading king and put her sword to his chest.

"Remain, traitor, or loose whatever honor you may yet have!"

The king dropped to his knees as the girl's eyes widened with surprise at the power she had just used. The inscription on her sword happened to be facing up, giving the Man a chance to read it.

"Who are you to command such over me? How did you come by the sword of the wife of Isildur?" the dishonored leader asked almost fearfully.

"Two women fought in the Battle of Dagorlad three thousand years ago. One was the wife of Isildur, the other was my Númenorean ancestor. During the battle, my ancestor saved the life of the queen, and was in turn granted this sword. On down the line has it been passed, mother to daughter, down to me. I am Aralyn, daughter of Arathorn and Gilraen, the half-elven…and my brother has commanded you to fulfill your oath. I suggest you do so."

Suddenly, the army flashed out of existence and the ground began to quake, followed by the collapse of the wall, which had apparently held back thousands of human skulls.

"Out!" Aragorn yelled, grabbing Drifter…or Aralyn, in fact, by the arm and dragging her towards the exit.

-That should have worked!-

"Legolas! Run!" the Man continued as they waded through the flow of bones. Finally emerging from the cave, a puff of dust closely following them, the group caught sight of the river…and the Corsair ships. As Aragorn fell to his knees in despair, Aralyn walked behind a rock. Like she predicted, the King of the Dead was waiting for her.

"You swear that your brother will release us?" he hissed.

"Upon my life and honor, I know that he will keep his word."

"You have yourself an army, my queen, for are you not the true heir?"

"I forfeited my place long ago."

The king then led his Men to stand behind the surprised Aragorn.

"We fight."

After quickly coming up with an effective plan, the four companions waited for the mercenaries by the shore while the dead army remained invisible.

"You may go no further," Aragorn ordered the sailors. "You will not enter Gondor."

"Who are you to deny us passage?" the leading ship's boson asked.

"Legolas, fire a warning shot past the boson's ear."

"Mind your aim," Gimli warned. Just before the elf released his arrow, the dwarf knocked the bow with his axe, causing Legolas to shoot one of the sailors instead. "That's it, right, we warned you! Prepare to be boarded!" The mercenaries simply laughed.

"Boarded?" one of them asked. "By you and whose army?"

"This army," Aragorn whispered as the Dead revealed themselves and charged the ships. Aralyn shivered when they ran through instead of around her.

Ten minutes later, they were on the ships, sailing towards Minas Tirith. While the Dead took care of the navigation and such, Aralyn sat near the bow, whetting her sword with a stone she had discovered.

"_Please, call me something other than 'my lord' or 'sir'. It gets annoying after a while."_

_The woman softly laughed as she held her dying leader's head in her lap and brushed the hair out of his face._

"_Yes…Father."_

"_Ar…Aralyn, I know that you are my firstborn and rightfully the heir, but there has always been…"_

"_No, Father, you do not have to explain anything. I never really wanted the weight of a crown anyway. Aragorn will become a great leader, just like yourself, I assure you of that."_

"_Then I die in peace, knowing that I have taught you well."_

_At that, Arathorn__, son of Arador, drew his last breath, leaving his grieving daughter alone and surrounded by the bodies of her slain enemies._

"Drif…I mean…Aralyn?" Aragorn addressed her, sitting beside the woman. She simply kept working methodically. "You're really my sister? My…older sister?"

"Yes," the girl thoughtlessly replied.

"And Lord Elrond knows of this?"

"There are several people who know of it, but yes, Elrond is one of them."

"And no one even considered telling me?"

"I feared that, if you were not established as the rightful heir before I revealed my identity to the world, the people would somehow force me to rule. Aragorn, I promised Ara…Father that I would see you to the throne, and that is what I intend to do."

"But I did not even guess it. How would I not know my own sister?"

"Our mother, a half elf, left with you to Rivendell when you were two years old, leaving me completely in Father's care. When I moved to Imladris, I hid from you so that you never saw me."

"When I first saw you in Bree, I mistrusted you almost more than any other stranger…and now, I find out that you're my sister? It doesn't make any sense to me!"

"You'll get used to it, I know."

Thanks for reading! Please review and vote!


	18. Possibilities

Thanks Safrina, Memory bleeds, dangrgurl7283, Pissenoffanis, Laurelin M. Estel, Lady Lea, Rushingriver, Lift the Wings, zenrockstar, sofia, and RandomTownTerrorizingPenguin for your reviews!

Possibilities

Sunset was nearly upon Middle-Earth as the ships neared their destination. Aralyn looked up from her finally new-looking weapons to gaze at the dilapidated stone dock. The King of the Dead was standing next to her.

"Do me a favor," she said. "Clear the city first and give the rest of us a chance for action."

"As you wish." The king disappeared as one of the orcs on the shore called,

"Come on, you sea rats, get off your ships!"

To the surprise of the enemy, two humans, an elf, and a dwarf leaped onto the shore.

"There's plenty for the three of us, may the best dwarf win," Gimli growled just before the Dead appeared behind them and began killing the orcs alongside the four living leaders. Sensing the same presence she had felt on the borders of Rohan, Aralyn ran towards the middle of the battle-field, killing many orcs as she went. By the time she reached her destination, Éowyn was just finishing off the Witch King.

"Éowyn, don't…" the ranger warned, but it was too late. The woman was touched by the Black Breath, causing her to fall to her knees as the wraith shriveled in death; however, Aralyn noticed that it was not the one she had fought. "Éowyn, are you alright?"

"I…think so," was the answer.

"Go to the House of Healing as soon as this is over. If you don't, you will die. Do understand me?" The other woman didn't respond at first. "Éowyn! Do you understand me?!"

"Uh…Yes."

"Good, now stay out of the way and don't get yourself into trouble."

At that, Aralyn raced off towards the Mûmakil that Legolas was scaling. She growled at the elf's high number of kills and drew her bow tight.

"…twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty…" As Legolas downed the giant creature and slid down its trunk to the ground, the woman found herself next to Gimli, who yelled,

"That still only counts as one!"

"So…Aralyn, what's your count so far?" the elf queried.

"Hold that a moment," she replied, rushing towards a small group of foes, slaughtering them, and returning. "…an even forty."

Not waiting for a reaction, the girl sped off to where she remembered leaving Éowyn, although she was nowhere to be found. Looking towards the city, she watched as the Dead melted away into the wind. Determined to find Éowyn, Aralyn walked around for several minutes and even checked underneath bodies for the woman of Rohan. Speaking of which, she had never seen so many corpses lying around in one place in her lifetime. Then, her eyes caught sight of Éomer cradling his unconscious sister some twenty feet away. She also noticed that Aragorn was watching as well, though he soon glanced her way. As Aralyn heard a crunching sound behind her, both the faces of Aragorn and Éomer showed alarm. Whipping around with her sword, metal clashed against metal as she faced a small group of about eight orcs, nothing particularly worrisome.

(Éomer)

The Man of Rohan wasn't quite sure what to do. He wanted to stay with his sister, and yet, there was the girl who he kept running into, battling a small band of their enemies. He hadn't noticed Aragorn until the Man ran from behind him to aid Falathiel; however, by the time the help came, it was unnecessary. The woman had killed every single one of her foes and was walking in the direction of one of the dead Mûmakil.

(Ok, that was short...Aralyn)

What had Aragorn been thinking? She was perfectly fine and he knew it!

"Drifter!" she suddenly heard a rather hobbit-like voice call from not far away. Going around the leg of the giant creature, she found Merry and Pippin on the ground, the latter holding the former away from the ground. "Drifter!" Pippin cried with relief. "He's injured! He needs help."

The woman then bent down to her wounded friend. His problem was not so much any mortal wound as he had somehow been touched by the Black Breath. Taking some herbs from her belt bag, she stated,

"He will not long survive if I don't do something now."

"How do you know that? And what makes you think that those herbs will do any good?" the halfling insisted on the verge of panic.

"Pippin," the girl firmly replied as she ministered to Merry, "first, believe it not, I have read a few books in my lifetime; second, this is not just any plant. I have used it for years and it is called…well, you know it as Kingsfoil."

"Of course! Aragorn used it for Frodo at Weathertop. It seems so long ago."

"Yes, it does." Aralyn paused before proceeding to pick Merry up. "We need to move him into the House of Healing. Follow me."

The two companions then began picking their way through the maze of fallen allies and enemies, finally reaching their destination after what seemed like hours.

"Take him to Aragorn," she told the woman after handing Merry to his new carrier. Having finally completed that mission, Aralyn wandered through the House before encountering a particular room which housed a familiar face.

"Faramir?" she asked the Man who was looking out his window, clearly desperate for release.

"Yes?" Faramir looked confused for a moment. "Falathiel?"

"It is good to see you, dear friend." The Gondorian's face lit up upon hearing the greeting. "What happened to you?"

"I was shot by orc arrows before the Riders of Rohan had even arrived." Faramir's joyful look turned to one which Aralyn was more than familiar with. "I lost all of my men."

"Faramir," she said softly, kneeling in front of the Man who had just sat on the bed, "not many can say this, but I can: I understand…more than you know." As she rose to leave, Faramir grabbed her arm.

"There's something I need to tell you. When he was still here, Boromir never stopped talking about you since the day you left when we were but children. Though countless women would have done anything for his love, he never thought of anyone but you. In battle, he whispered your name like a prayer before each encounter. He loved you, Falathiel."

Silence reigned for a moment as Aralyn took hold of her boiling emotions.

"I know...You may leave this stuffy room if you should so choose, although, I would advise against roaming beyond the walls of the House of Healing. If anyone asks, just tell them that Aralyn gave you leave to do so. Oh, and, by the way, the princess of Rohan is here also." With a wink, the woman walked out, leaving Faramir slightly speechless.

Though she could have gone to the servants and easily requested a bath, Aralyn, guessing that they had plenty to do, jogged straight to the Great Hall. Going directly to the newest statue, she stared into its eyes, thinking.

"Oh, Falathiel! I didn't expect you to be here," a grandfatherly voice exclaimed. Turning to Gandalf, the woman sadly replied,

"It's alright…you may now call me by my true name…of course, if you don't want to, I'm perfectly fine with it."

"Dear girl," the wizard chuckled, "I'm glad you finally decided to slip from the shadows. Now, before deliberations for our next move begin to come up, tell me…what happened between here and Rohan?"

--

Through most of the night, Aralyn spent her time talking to Gandalf; however, she went to quickly bathe before returning in the morning.

"If Sauron had the Ring, we would know it," Aragorn was stating as the woman walked in, wearing a new travel dress, much like her other one, except that it was a deep blue.

"It is only a matter of time," the wizard haggled. "He has suffered a defeat, yes, but behind the walls of Mordor, our enemy is regrouping."

"Let him stay there!" Gimli suggested as Éomer nodded to Aralyn with annoyingly great courtesy. "Let him rot! Why should we care?"

"Because ten thousand orcs now stand between Frodo and Mount Doom. I've sent him to his death."

"No," Aragorn argued. "There is still hope for Frodo. He needs time and safe passage across the Plains of Gorgoroth. We can give him that."

"How?" the dwarf asked.

"Draw out Sauron's armies. Empty his lands. Then we gather our full strength and march on the Black Gate."

"We cannot achieve victory through strength of arms," Éomer stated while Gimli choked on his pipe.

"Not for ourselves, but we can give Frodo his chance if we keep Sauron's eye fixed upon us. Keep him blind to all else that moves."

"A diversion," Legolas approvingly noted.

"Certainty of death," Gimli pondered, "small chance of success…what are we waiting for?"

"Sauron will suspect a trap," Gandalf once again countered. "He will not take the bait."

"Oh, I think he will," Aragorn replied.

Just then, Aralyn realized what her brother was thinking.

"Aragorn, you're a genius! Of course it will work. Though, if you're going to do this, the rest of us should not be here."

"Do you not think that it will be more effective if we both do it?"

"Sauron already knows of my existence. He sent a wraith after me to prove it. I believe that your appearance will simply throw him over the edge."

At that, the woman walked out, eventually followed by the others after they had been told of Aragorn's plan. As she walked to the battlement and looked to the east, she was soon joined by Éomer.

"Normally, in times of trouble," he said, "I ask the women I care about to stay hidden and safe. Of course, this isn't exactly a normal situation."

"You care for many women?" Aralyn casually asked, taking advantage of the Man's weak wording.

"No, that's not what I meant…"

"I understand. However, you hardly know me. How could you care for me?"

"It may sound childish, but I feel that I have known you my entire life through the stories my uncle told me."

"That brings to mind…I heard of Théoden's death. My condolences…he was a good friend of mine."

"I accept the condolences, but you are changing the subject, Falathiel."

"It's Aralyn…you can still call me Falathiel, though. It will take me some time to get used to my real name, again."

"Again, you change the subject. I have never fallen in love with anyone, Falathiel…until now."

"Éomer…you can't love me. Out of all the women in Middle-Earth, you can't love me."

"Why not?"

The woman was tired of men falling in love with her, which was why Éomer was causing her temper to begin rising.

"I have loved and been loved by three men in my lifetime, Éomer," she said, her voice beginning to heighten with her temper. "Now, I may be ninety-seven years old, but that is still far too many for anyone. Even Arwen Evenstar has only loved one man, yet here I am…with another Man flirting with me! Now…if you'll excuse me, I have a battle to prepare for."

Aralyn then proceeded to walk towards the temporary quarters which had been assigned to her, leaving a rather stunned Éomer.

Thanks for reading! Please review! I'll be closing the poll probably the day after I finish this story, so please vote while you can! I know this chapter was particularly short, but, for some reason, I wasn't paying attention to how many pages I was writing…don't ask. Anyway, the next chapter should be up within the next few days…as usual.


	19. Will Dawn Become Dusk?

Thanks Safrina, memory bleeds, and MeldaTavar for your reviews!

Will Dawn Become Dusk?

Aralyn set her travel bag aside. She had the feeling that she would not need it during the battle. Besides, she still had her herbs for healing in her belt pouch. Just as the girl was thinking of how she missed her fifth dagger, an older serving maid came in. At first, her eyes were slightly downcast, but, upon seeing Aralyn's temporarily ageless face, the woman's golden-amber eyes lit up.

"Miss Falathiel! I was told that a woman of your description was given this room, but I didn't believe that it could be you…yet, here you are, dear girl!" the woman exclaimed. Aralyn recognized the maid, Josephine, from her last visit. The old woman's black hair had taken on a grey sheen, making her tall, trim figure seem even more regal. Any casual observer would have thought the woman to be of noble birth if not for the plain servant garb. In fact, she was of elvish heritage, though few knew it. It was partially why the ranger had such a friendship with her.

"Josephine?" the ranger disbelievingly queried. "So Denethor was kind enough to keep you around. I'm glad to see that!"

Josephine then slipped back out before popping back in, carrying some sort of clothing in her arms.

"On the unlikely possibility that you were the one here, I brought this along. It's just a little something I made myself, for the unlikely event that you ever did return."

"By the way, you can call me by my real name now," Aralyn stated as she took what appeared to be some sort of battle garb from the other woman. "I finally revealed my identity to the world." That comment caused Josephine's eyes to turn to fire with joy, though she made no response. Instead, she urged,

"Please, try it on."

A few minutes later, Aralyn was standing in front of the full-length mirror, wearing the new dress, which fit like a glove. It was made with two layers; the first was a light, chain mail type material skirt which felt lighter than looked. That particular part had multiple splits from her mid-thighs to nearly her ankles. The outer dress was black, randomly patterned with more of the silvery materiel, and with long, wide sleeves of the same fabric, with a thigh-to-mid-shin wide zigzag hem. The outfit also included a semi-low V-neck and the bright silver pattern of the Tree of Gondor over her heart. She gaped at her reflection. Never before had she thought of herself as regal, queenly, or anything close to it, until that moment.

"Josie…I…I don't know what to say," the girl whispered as the older woman stood by, trying to hold back a smile.

"Well, you could say thank you, for one thing." Aralyn shocked her with a hug.

"Oh, thank you so much!"

"I told you that you would make the perfect queen, but…who am I to go against the words of your dying father."

"You were always a tease, Josie. What is this silver…stuff?"

"That is not just 'stuff', dear girl! It's Mythril."

"How could it be? Mythril is incredibly rare."

"Not for someone with rare connections with the dwarves."

"Just for me?"

"Well…I admit that I did make a little something for myself, but, yes. Most of it went into that dress. It was the least I could do for my princess."

"I owe more than ever, now."

"You owe me nothing, dear one."

"By the way, how is my torso supposed to be protected?"

"If any orc has any wits and you are not protecting yourself properly, then your heart will probably be the target. The Tree of Gondor will take care of that problem."

"Thank you."

"Alright, enough thanking. Hurry up and get ready. I'm told that you're leaving in an hour."

--

(Aragorn)

Aragorn was standing in the stables, waiting for the rest of his men, although they were not leaving for another half an hour. Suddenly, his sister walked in. Thinking of her as family was still strange to him. Even though he had seen the similarities, he never imagined that…

"Oh, Aragorn," the woman said, slightly alarmed by his presence. He temporarily ceased stroking Brego's neck to stare. With the black and silver battle dress, plus her weapons, she looked ever more prepared for battle than he did with his armor. "I didn't expect to see you here. I'm sorry. I'll leave you be," she finished.

"No…Aralyn. It's alright…you don't have to leave."

"I just need to find a horse. I can't continue fetching rides from you."

"The stableman who just left wanted to give you a gift. It's in the back stall. You seem to have become rather popular during the past day with the common people."

Aralyn's eyebrows rose with curiosity as she walked towards the back stall.

"Oh my…" she breathed; however, she didn't finish. Aragorn finally saw what the stable boy had been so proud of when he had left. A huge stallion, about the size of Brego except that it was more muscular, emerged from the shadows. Its deep black coat and long mane and tail glimmered in the light seeping through the door. The deep brown eyes displayed more wisdom than seemed possible as its massive hooves clopped on the ground.

"He is a magnificent creature."

"I…I have to do something for the stable boy."

"I can promote him to stable master. The older one died during the battle."

"Perfect. Does he have a family?"

"They also died."

"Does he have a place to live?"

"Other than here? No, but I can give him better accommodations."

"You have my thanks, Aragorn. Now that you are about to be king, I should give you a bit of advice…Always do things like that. Always work towards bettering the lives of your people." Before the Man could respond, the girl began whispering to her new horse in elvish, though he only caught fragments. She was praising the animal for his strength and beauty, asking if he would bear her, and pointing out that he needed a name. After the little dialogue, Aralyn began saddling the horse.

"What are doing? We still have a while before we depart."

The girl smiled as if Aragorn was a naïve child while stroking her steed's muzzle.

"He has been cooped up in here since before the fighting."

Without another explanation, she walked out the back door, probably to avoid being seen by too many people. The Man shook his head in amusement for a moment until Éomer entered. The Man of Rohan had been obviously trying to win Aralyn's heart. He was utterly failing, however. As Éomer went to saddle his own horse, Aragorn chuckled, receiving a rather serious look from the new heir of Rohan.

"What is so funny?"

"You…trying to woo my sister. You may know what and who she is, but you have no idea how to handle her."

"Alright, if you know so much about her, then tell me…what did the three other men have over me?"

"Let me tell you what you did. You instantly began underestimating her. Although Aralyn is perfectly happy with being treated like a lady, she hates nothing more than when people underestimate her. Make a balance of the two, and you will have a better chance."

(Aralyn)

The black giant raced fearlessly through the day-old battlefield, its great muscles rippling underneath Aralyn. A single orc, which had somehow escaped the scouring of the Men of Rohan, stood in their path. Although Aralyn had a flash of doubt at the fact that the orc was armed, the horse plowed on. As it approached the foe, her steed slightly reared in mid-step and kicked the orc right in the middle of the head with fearful precision. It then continued running east, having barely even slowed for the roadblock. When the creature slowed to a stop about three miles from the city, Aralyn praised it in the elvish tongue. He almost seemed to understand what she was saying. She also noticed that he was not even breathing slightly heavy from exertion. Nearly an hour later, the army caught up with her. As she joined the procession behind Aragorn on the far right beside Gandalf, Aralyn noted Éomer's edgy glance in her direction.

"Some of the Men feared that you had run out on us, Aralyn," Gandalf pointed out.

"You know me better than that."

"I'm just saying…" The two friends shared a smile. Even at the threshold of battle, humor was still needed.

--

Several hours had passed since their departure as the small army finally reached the Black Gate. Aralyn felt the presence of the Eye looking at them.

"Gandalf," she whispered, "it's working."

"I know."

As they halted in plain view of the Gate, Pippin muttered,

"Where are they?"

In response, Aragorn caused his horse to run towards the Gate, closely followed by Gandalf with Pippin, Legolas with Gimli, Éomer with Merry, Aralyn, and a standard-bearer. To the girl's annoyance, she ended up beside the Man of Rohan as the little group stopped almost directly in front of the entrance.

"Let the Lord of the Black Land come forth!" Aragorn called. "Let justice be done upon him!"

Almost right after he finished, the doors opened slightly to permit one rider to emerge from inside. The Man…or thing, more like it, was taller than a normal person on a black steed, smaller than Aralyn's horse and less cared for. Most of him was covered with glossy black armor, and the only thing which showed was his pale chin and a huge mouth with bloody lips that constantly grinned, showing off massive fang-like teeth.

"My master, Sauron the Great, bids thee welcome," it stated with a rough voice. "Is there any in this rout with authority to treat with me?"

"We do not come to treat with Sauron, faithless and accursed," Gandalf countered. "Tell your master this: The armies of Mordor must disband. He is to depart these lands, never to return."

"Ah, Old Greybeard! I have a token I was bidden to show thee." At that, the creature threw a Mythril shirt at Gandalf, who caught it.

"Frodo!" Pippin cried.

"Silence!" the wizard snapped.

"No!" Merry shouted.

"Silence!"

"The halfling was dear to thee, I see," the representative stated, grinning. "Know that he suffered greatly at the hands of his host. Who would've thought one so small could endure so much pain? And he did, Gandalf, he did." As Aragorn and Aralyn rode nearer to him, the Mouth slightly lost his grin, addressing the Man. "And who is this? Isildur's heir? It takes more to make a king than a broken elvish blade." Then, he looked to the girl. "So the scout was telling the truth. You think that you have restored Gondor. You have only sealed its doom." With a yell, Aralyn drew her sword at chopped the Mouth's head off along with her brother.

"I guess that concludes negotiations," Gimli grumbled.

"I do not believe it. I will not," Aragorn hissed. "Pull back! Pull back!" he ordered as the Gate began opening to allow the host of orcs through. "Hold your ground!" he called to the soldiers as he began riding Brego back and forth. "Sons of Gondor, of Rohan, my brothers, I see in your eyes the same fear that would take the heart of me. A day may come when the courage of Men fails, when we forsake our friends and break all bonds of fellowship, but it is not this day! An hour of wolves and shattered shields when the Age of Men comes crashing down, but it is not this day! This day we fight! By all that you hold dear on this good earth, I bid you stand, Men of the West!"

Hopping down from her horse, Aralyn whispered to the steed,

"Kai sai si shas shor Shadowfax, Astaldo (Go to the back with Shadowfax, Astaldo)."

"Astaldo?" Gandalf queried as their steeds trotted to the back of the army. "Elvish for valiant. I suppose I can understand why you chose it. He rivals Shadowfax even."

The choppy dialogue was cut off as Aragorn lowered his sword and walked a few steps forward while the orc host surrounded them. The woman could tell that the Eye was fixed on her brother.

"Never thought I'd die fighting side by side with an elf," Gimli muttered.

"What about side by side with a friend?" Legolas asked.

"Aye, I could do that."

"Aragorn?" Aralyn addressed the Man. He didn't respond instantly. "Aragorn!" Her brother then turned to his friends behind him.

"For Frodo."

Sword raised, the heir of Elendil raced forward, closely followed by the hobbits and his sister running beside him. In seconds, the two armies collided in a bloody, fierce battle. Aralyn didn't allow herself to think of the odds. Instead, she lashed out at her foes with all of her strength and resolve, not thinking, just fighting. A few minutes later, the Ring Wraiths came to join the fray, spreading fear, even terror, throughout the ranks of Men as they picked off two or three of their number with each turn, letting out their piercing screeches as they went. It caused the girl's leg to go numb with pain from the old wound. The screams ceased, however, as one of their number was crashed into by a giant eagle.

"The eagles! The eagles are coming!" Pippin could be heard yelling somewhere in the crowd. As most of the wraiths began flying back towards Mount Doom, Aralyn turned around to see Aragorn being knocked over and pinned down by a cave troll not ten feet away. While the Man desperately tried fighting the creature from the ground, his older sibling ran as fast as she could and collided with the troll, just throwing it off balance enough for Aragorn to get free and find his sword. Even as she rolled to safety, Aralyn noticed a familiar feeling. Just before each of the deceased men in her life had died, the woman had had the same exact sensation: imminent demise; however, this time, it was different. Still on her knees, she spun around to be met with the most horrific pain she had ever experienced. The remaining wraith was hovering above her on his winged steed, his hand poised in the air, having just thrown something. After the Nazgûl disappeared, Aralyn looked down at her torso. Seconds seemed like hours as she pulled her missing dagger from the probably mortal wound in her abdomen. Exactly like what happened during her one-on-one encounter with the wraith, the flash of memory of Boromir's death went through her mind while she continued fighting. It was the only thing keeping her from passing out and giving up, in that order. Killing eight more orcs, she paused along with everyone else when their enemies fled. Mount Doom was exploding and Mordor was collapsing, to the relief of the free people of Middle-Earth.

"Frodo! Frodo!" Merry cheered. Then, the faces of every single human, elf, dwarf, and hobbit dropped, realizing that there was a good chance that Frodo and Sam were dead. The ground underneath the orcs' feet gave way underneath them, although Aralyn's allies were left untouched. A single tear ran down the girl's cheek. She wasn't sure if it was from joy, sorrow, or pain. As her knees gave way and her eyes fluttered, Aralyn heard the voices of Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, Merry, Pippin, and, most prominently, Éomer, call out to her in alarm. The last thing she saw was the concerned and stern, yet handsome face of the Man of Rohan hovering over her. The woman could almost hear her ancestors calling her home.

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	20. Beginnings and Endings

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Beginnings and Endings

"Aralyn! Aralyn, awaken!" The woman jerked up. She was sitting in the greenest field she had ever laid eyes on. Vegetation in a nearby forest rustled in the cool breeze, a crystal clear creek could be heard not far away, and a familiar log cabin was standing near the trees about a half mile off. The most prominent thing, however, was the Man standing in front of her. Like herself, he was wearing perfectly clean ranger-type clothes, although he had no weapons…aside from a sword. He also looked familiar.

"Am I…"

"Dead? No. Almost dead, yes," the Man replied.

"Then how can I be seeing you? You died in my arms years ago."

"Let's take a walk," Arathorn stated, helping his daughter stand and leading her towards the cabin.

"Is this…"

"In a sense, it is our old home."

"So that's why it looks so…familiar."

"Yes."

Aralyn stopped in her tracks.

"Tell me what is going on, Father! Am I dead or not?"

"I told you that you are not dead and I will explain the rest when we reach the cabin," Arathorn coaxed, taking the girl's arm and continuing his walk towards the building. She wasn't sure whether it took minutes or hours to reach the humble abode. When they did, her father instantly began setting the pot over the fire to boil and bringing cups out. Aralyn wasn't sure why she didn't growl with impatience as she waited for the other ranger to finish making the tea and sit down. "Well, it seems that your training for patience did not completely leave you."

"About that…where is 'here'?"

Arathorn leaned backed in his chair in exactly the same he used to do when his daughter asked a question that he wasn't in the mood to answer. Meanwhile, the girl scanned the house with her eyes. The four wood carved chairs, two for the rough-in-contrast table in the middle of the room she was sitting at and two for the brick fireplace, were exactly where she remembered them being, along with everything else. Exactly opposite of the entrance door was placed the back door, which led to the training area and stables. On the left side of that were the sink, water pump, and cupboard which held the dishes and utensils. To the right of the back door and left of the fireplace against another wall sat Arathorn's bed, small wardrobe, and weapons' stand. Right of the fireplace stood Aralyn's bed, and again, a small wardrobe, and weapons' stand. Behind the girl, after the entrance, in the corner, was the cellar door and escape route. To her left was placed the laundry area, simply a large tub with other necessary odds and ends beside it. The only other noticeable thing in the one-room house was the brown grass rug in front of the fireplace that Aralyn had made herself. She had to push aside her emotions upon seeing the two, not four, beds. Her brother and mother had left when she was twelve, leaving her and Arathorn to tend to themselves. As she hesitantly sipped her tea, her father finally leaned on the table.

"This is the threshold of death. Gandalf the Gr...White went to such a place after killing the Balrog. They care for you much…your friends."

"Yes, I think they're trying to heal me. I feel different, like something is trying to pull me from here. But, Father, I'm not sure if I want to go back."

"Why not? You have much to leave behind: friends, followers, family…lovers."

"You left me, Arathorn! Doesn't that matter to you at all?"

"Alright, I'll leave that subject alone for a while. How are you fairing other than this little near-death experience?"

Aralyn didn't instantly answer.

"…I miss you even more with Aragorn around. He is so much like you, yet not."

"Is he not going to be crowned, soon?"

"He is probably preparing right now. I hope he is. Oh, Father, did I fulfill my promise? Was I faithful to my word? Obey your last request?"

"Aralyn, you did better than I could have ever hoped for. Now, do me one more favor."

The girl cocked her head. Another request? All that she had gone through, and her father was making more requests? Biting back a retort, she innocently said,

"I am ready to serve, my lord."

"Give Éomer a chance. I'm not saying now, necessarily, but give him a chance. You both deserve it. You're perfect for each other. You lost everyone you loved but your brother and he lost all but his sister. Both of you are nobility. There would be no saying, 'you don't understand', because both of you have gone through similar suffering. Aralyn, you know in your heart that this is true. You are released from the burden I placed upon you so long ago. Enjoy life and its simple pleasures."

Relief and peace swept through the woman like a flood. It felt as if a life-long curse had been lifted, like heavy chains had been removed from her wrists after years of servitude.

"I am ready, now. Thank you…Father." She savored calling Arathorn by that title. Closing her eyes contentedly to let the new-found calm seep into her, Aralyn could tell that she was leaving the humble ranger home, though the change was very subtle.

--

The ranger cracked her eyes open just enough to look around the small room, but not enough for anyone to see that she was awake. To her relief, the area was clear and the door was shut.

"You're right, Father, I do know it," she whispered before moving her arms to push herself into a sitting position. Her torso was stiff with tight bandaging. Clearly, whoever had taken care of that was not taking any chances. Sliding out of bed, she discovered that she was dressed in a simple, long, sweeping, deep blue gown. The name 'Josephine' instantly popped into her head. Looking out the nearby window, she caught sight of servants bustling back and forth, cleaning, and preparing for the coronation in every imaginable way. After slipping into the pair of light shoes nearby, Aralyn snuck out the door, down the hall, and to a secluded garden which she had used years before during her last stay there. Josephine had shown it to her as a way to hide from everyone else.

"Aralyn?" Éomer suddenly queried, coming around the corner. The girl was surprised by how handsome he was, although she thought most Men looked even more handsome dirty.

"Hmm, and here I thought I would be able to find some privacy here."

"Sorry, the maid…Josephine…told me that I would find you here."

"Another person I thought I could trust."

"I can leave, if you want."

"No! No, Éomer, don't leave. I'm sorry…I just am not used to being social anymore. The truth is that…I really do enjoy your company."

The Man grinned like a boy with his first sword. Definitely not something the woman had expected from a warrior.

--

A day had passed since Aralyn had awakened. She had encountered no one familiar other than Éomer and Josephine because everyone else was busy preparing. As she walked through the halls of the House of Healing, the girl heard joyous laughter coming from inside a room around the corner. She stopped short and peeked past the wall. One by one, Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli walked through the doorway.

"Drifter?" someone behind the girl addressed her.

"Sam? You made it!" Aralyn exclaimed, embracing the hobbit.

"Drifter, are you alright? You look different."

"In a good or bad way?"

"Both."

"Well, I should be the one asking if you're alright. You are the one who helped the Ring-bearer carry the Ring straight to the heart of evil."

Shaking his head doubtfully, Sam walked towards the room, leaving Aralyn to consider his words. Somehow, a part of her was gone, dead with those she loved, yet she felt more alive than ever. Going to stand just behind Sam, she saw in the room Gandalf, her brother, her former fiancé, Gimli, Merry, Pippin, and Frodo.

"Aralyn!" the freed Ring-bearer cried from the bed, causing the others to look at her as if they had seen a ghost.

"Aralyn, child!" Gandalf stated. "I didn't think that you would be up."

"Why wouldn't she be?" Frodo asked, suddenly looking worried.

"She almost died protecting her king."

"I'm fine," the woman countered, although no one seemed to believe her. "Really, I'm fine! It's Frodo you should be worried about." They still stared.

"Drifter," the young hobbit began, "what happened since last I saw you?"

"Much happened, small one. Now rest, for we have coronation to attend tomorrow."

--

(Aragorn)

Another day went by. Before he knew it, Aragorn was standing on the stairs with Gandalf, the crown suspended over his head. As the wizard placed it upon his brow, the Man realized why his sister had been so willing to give it away. The feeling of responsibility flooded him.

"Now come the days of the King," Gandalf announcing happily. "May they be blessed."

At that, Aragorn smiled and turned to the crowd of people in the courtyard, who overwhelmed him with clapping and cheering. While he addressed the people, he looked for Aralyn, the reason he was alive and king.

"This day does not belong to one man, but to all. Let us together rebuild this world, that we may share in the days of peace."

As he began the ancient song of the kings of Gondor, Aragorn finally saw his sister peeking from behind a nearby pillar.

"Et Eärello Endorenna utúlien. Sinome maruvan ar Hildinyar tenn' Ambar-metta! (Out if the great sea to Middle Earth I am come. In this place I will abide, and my heirs, unto the end of the world!)"

There she was, his sister, a tear running down her cheek. It suddenly dawned on him that, if things had been different, she would be the one walking down the stairs with hundreds of eyes upon her. That was how she had known the song at the Falls of Rauros. Upon approaching Aralyn, the Man was shocked by her appearance. Like himself, she did not look like a ranger. Her light yellow gown practically sparkled in the light as did her long, immaculate golden hair. He was taken aback by her uncovered, petite pointed ears.

"Stop staring, brother," she casually demanded. "We don't want your people thinking that they're going to led by an idiot now, do we."

With a slight push from the woman, Aragorn continued on to Legolas.

(Aralyn)

Her song. She had given away the chance to sing it, rule, be a queen, yet she had done it willingly and gladly. Aragorn and Arwen were united. Faramir and Éowyn were standing side by side, holding hands. Yet…there the ranger/princess was: alone.

At that, she walked towards the stables, unnoticed as the King and his people knelt before the hobbits. She could feel Frodo's gaze on her back as she ran down the stairs. Astaldo nickered a greeting to her as she entered and began saddling him.

"Taer ti eir si shas kari, Astaldo (Meet me at the back gate, Astaldo)," she requested of the great steed prior to opening the gate for him and racing to her room. After changing into the newly mended battle dress, which was perfectly comfortable enough for travel, Aralyn packed her bag, collected her weapons, and wrote notes to Josephine and Aragorn. As she reached the back gate and saw Astaldo, prepared for the lonely journey, the woman paused. She needed reinforcement.

-Drifter, you'll see some of them again. Just go. Wander a while and meet Gandalf at the Grey Havens. Yes, that's what I'll do-

It worked, at least physically. She leaped onto her horse and urged him on toward the horizon, not looking back, although she could imagine a few people who were probably watching from the courtyard above. Again, she was content. Again, she was a ranger. Again, she was Drifter.

--

(Two years later)

(Sam)

Finally, the small party arrived at the Grey Havens to say goodbye to a few friends. Frodo and Sam were helping the fragile, elderly Bilbo in walking towards the dock along with Merry, Pippin, and Gandalf.

"Oh!" Bilbo exclaimed. "Well, here is a sight I have never seen before."

"The power of the three rings is ended," Galadriel stated. A ship was docked nearby, with a ramp leading to it. "The time has come for the dominion of Men."

"I Aear cân ven na mar (The sea calls us home)," Elrond added.

"I think I'm quite ready for another adventure," the old hobbit noted, boarding the ship on his wobbly legs. As the three elves, Elrond, Galadriel, and Celeborn turned to go, they paused upon hearing the sound of heavy, resounding footfalls on the cobblestones at the Havens' entrance. A cloaked and hooded woman, wearing a black and silver dress, gracefully dismounted from the huge, black horse. All present smiled as Aralyn removed the hood. She once again looked like a rough, experienced ranger, but her ears were uncovered still.

"Aralyn!" they all cried, receiving a kind smile in return.

"I'm glad to see that none of you have forgotten me."

"And why would we do such an atrocious thing?" Pippin queried.

"Aralyn!" Gandalf interrupted. "You left so suddenly from the coronation all that time ago; I was worried that something was wrong."

"No, old friend," the girl replied. "I just knew that you would try stopping me if I did not slip away unnoticed."

"Very true."

"I will miss you, Gandalf."

At that, the wizard turned to the teary-eyes halflings as the elves went onto the ship.

"Farewell, my brave hobbits. My work is now finished. Here, at last, on the shores of the sea, comes the end of our Fellowship. I will not say do not weep, for not all tears are an evil." Halfway to the ship, he looked at one hobbit in particular. "It is time, Frodo."

"What does he mean?" Sam asked his friend in shock.

"We set out to save the Shire, Sam…and it has been saved, but not for me," Frodo replied.

"You don't mean that. You can't leave!"

Frodo ignored his companion's retort. Instead, he handed over a leather-bound book.

"The last pages are for you, Sam."

While the hobbit was hugging his friends goodbye, Gandalf addressed Aralyn.

"You can still come and leave all your suffering behind, Falathiel."

"I already have, Gandalf. After you leave, I'm going to find my Man. But, perhaps I may go someday."

"Oh, by the way, Bilbo made this for you," the wizard said, giving the girl a thick book with a soft, green cover before turning to go.

Beaming with a smile, Frodo boarded the ship, closely followed by the beloved wizard. As the vessel shrunk with distance into the sparkling sunset, Aralyn knelt down to embrace all three remaining hobbits.

"The Fellowship is never gone as long as we hold true to each other," she said, surprising emotion in her voice. Sam noted that the cloak she was wearing was somehow the same enveloping, maroon one he had met her in. She seemed to be studying ever curve of each hobbit's face with one glance. "The sun is sinking low. If you like, we can have a little reunion camp in the forest nearby. You will be well-protected with me here."

"Nothing would please us more, my lady," Merry answered graciously.

They were soon crowded around a cheerful, crackling fire as the sun sank beyond the horizon.

"So," Sam began while bringing his pan and pot out, "I have the cookery, but nothing to cook. Any suggestions, my lady?"

With a twinkle in her eye, the rugged woman took from her bag three decently sized rabbits. While bringing out a dagger to skin the animals, she stated,

"I thought you might bring those weights. That's why I picked up some potatoes in the last town in the Shire, along with a few spices."

"You had this all planned?"

"Pretty much."

"So," Merry interrupted, "my lady, what have you been up to for the past two years?"

Aralyn seemed to be taking advantage of just being done gutting the rabbits. At last, after handing them and the extras to Sam, she paused, seemingly trying to decide what to say. Just as she seemed ready to speak, the girl picked up the leftovers from cleaning their food and walked into the forest to dump them before finally settling down.

"Much has happened during the past two years. Merry and Pippin, you remember Treebeard?"

"How could we forget?" the youngest hobbit cutely asked in turn, receiving rolled eyes from the other two.

"Well, years ago, I stumbled upon Fangorn, whether it was before or after my stay in Rohan I do not remember. In exchange for Treebeard's hospitality, I promised that I would find the Entwives. Almost right after leaving Minas Tirith during the coronation, I journeyed to one of the few places I was not sure of. I skirted the Dead Marshes along the borders of Mordor, crossed the Plains of Dagorlad, along with the eastern end of the Brown Lands, and picked my way through the unnamed mountains, although, if it was up to me, I'd dub them the Maze Mountains. All in all, with the threat of the Easterlings constantly, it took me three months to reach the Sea of Rhun. Since the locals were less than willing to part with any of their water without me stealing it all the time, I decided to go north, past the river, and then turn east to reach the forest. Another month of avoiding the Easterlings went by before I reached the forest. Another week and I found the Entwives convinced them to return to Fangorn. You should have seen the faces of those locals when I came parading out of there with a bunch of trees following me. Anyway, I've been wandering ever since. I even ran into and traveled with Legolas, Miluiel, and Gimli for a while during their tour of all forests and caves of Middle-Earth. What about you?"

The hobbits were taken aback. All her constant adventure and the sister of the Gondorian king was asking them how they had spent the past two years.

"Well," Sam said, "…pretty much exactly what we did before the Ring came along: gardening, more pranks done by Merry and Pip, cooking, oh, and did you hear that I got married?"

"No I did not. Congratulations, Sam!"

"Even Pippin here has a lady on his heals, now," Merry put in.

"Is that so? And what about you, Merry?"

"Oh, I have a few on my trail that I can name."

"You do not!" Pippin countered loudly, causing his companions to burst out laughing, the hobbits more than the woman, of course.

The friends ate, told stories, and laughed for almost the rest of the night.

--

By midday the next day, Merry and Pippin had already left the main road for their homes, leaving Sam and Aralyn with her glossy steed continuing along the way to Hobbiton. They soon found themselves in front of Sam's humble abode.

"Are you sure you don't want to stay for a while? Rosie makes the best tea in all the Shire," the hobbit offered as a small halfling girl raced to them, yelling,

"Daddy! Daddy!"

"I have one last promise to fulfill, Sam. It is one that will not wait."

"Are you sure?" he queried again while his daughter in his arms put her head on his shoulder and a pretty hobbit woman emerged from the doorway, carrying an infant.

"I am sure," Aralyn finalized prior to addressing Sam's wife. "You have a brave one, here, Mrs. Gamgee. Take care of him."

(Aralyn)

As she mounted Astaldo, the girl heard Sam state from behind her,

"Well, I'm back."

At that, she whispered a short phrase of elvish to her great stallion, who bolted off towards Rohan.

Thanks for reading! I'm going to go ahead and close my poll so that I have a chance to collect my thoughts for the next story. One more chapter left! Please review!


	21. To Embrace the Untouchable

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To Embrace the Untouchable

Aralyn gaily laughed as Edoras came into view. Astaldo broke into a full gallop, sensing her desire to reach the city as soon as possible.

"Open the gate!" she called upon nearing the entrance. "I am Aralyn of Gondor. Open the gate!"

She was admitted directly after mentioning her name. As the woman dismounted and handed Astaldo's reigns to one of the soldiers, she addressed the one who seemed to be their leader.

"I must speak to your king immediately."

"I'm sorry, my lady," the Man replied, "but King Éomer left two weeks ago to make his yearly rounds of the land."

"Please," she begged, "tell me, where would he be by now?"

"Miss, there is no way to tell for sure…"

"At least a guess, an idea, anything!"

"Alright…if he hasn't had any holdups, then he would most likely be at the eastern-most village beside the Great River, but…"

"That's enough, thank you," the ranger quickly said, once again mounting and charging out the gate to the north-east.

Several hours later, the town could be seen on the horizon. Hoof prints were scattered everywhere about the entrance, but the only signs of life were the few village women sweeping the dust from their doorsteps and children playing tag in the square. A Man, seemingly of importance, stopped in front of Aralyn as she dismounted.

"Who are you, stranger," he addressed her.

"I am Aralyn, daughter of Arathorn, sister of the King of Gondor."

"Then you are more than welcome here, my lady."

"Is King Éomer here?"

"I'm sorry, but he left yesterday. Supposedly, this was the last place he was visiting, but one of the soldiers said something about honoring the dead of Helm's Deep."

"Thank you. Your help will not be forgotten, good man."

"Ride safe, my lady."

Again, the woman mounted Astaldo, who stampeded out of the village back to the west. Unfortunately for her tightly strained nerves, Aralyn was forced to stop at the Entwash to water her horse and let him graze. Finally, the horsemen's tracks led to Helm's Deep after hours of racing along their trail. It appeared that the Men had just arrived as the gate made a loud boom as it shut. Dropping down to the ground, the ranger had no need to hold onto Astaldo's reigns as he simply followed her up the stairs beside the great gap in the wall. Apparently, no one had tried repairing the damage down to the structure quite yet. The bloodstains of the long-removed fallen still marked the stones as the girl knelt down beside one spot in particular, though hardly any mark was left there.

"Sor air shaesi Haldir rair, Astaldo (This was where Haldir died, Astaldo)," she whispered to the steed, which nuzzled the back of her neck with his hand-size muzzle. "Ci tasti thys ti eil shar por ci kaer ail vaeres? Paer (He came for me and what did he get in return? Death)." The horse seemed to understand as he allowed the girl to bury her face in his mane, though she did not cry. Simply the fact that there was someone…or something there to comfort her gave her courage.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" the voice of a Man asked himself before he rounded the corner which was Astaldo. He hadn't yet seen Aralyn's face as she was still resting her head against the creature with her hair over her face. "A great stallion and a maiden of travel…are you perhaps a messenger of some kind? Your horse is black, so perhaps some remnant loyalist of the Enemy?" As soon as those words were out of the Man's mouth, Astaldo reared up, knocking the Man over. Just as the horse was about to crush the newcomer with his giant hooves, Aralyn cried out,

"Bai! Ci air ei thol! (No! He is a friend!)"

"Falathiel?" Éomer queried from his place still on the ground.

"My lady to you, Éomer. You're lucky I like you enough to have stopped Astaldo from ending your life."

"Astaldo? Elvish for valiant…he is definitely protective of you."

"And of his own honor," the girl finished, helping the King of Rohan stand.

The Man and woman stood staring at each other for over a minute.

"So…have you found anyone to win the pieces of your heart, yet?"

-This is going to be fun-

"Yes, my true love."

"Oh…who is the lucky one?"

"He's standing right in front of me."

After gasping with joy, Éomer picked the girl up bride style and twirled her around.

"Aralyn, daughter of Arathorn, will you marry me?...with Astaldo's permission, of course?"

"Not just because I'm the sister of the king of Gondor?"

"No, because I love you. You're my dream come true."

"Well, in that case…yes, Éomer, son of Éomund…yes!"

--

(sixty-two years later)

"Mother!" Elfwine called to the woman with pointed ears packing a weathered bag. She had golden hair with three inch-wide highlights of grey, although her face barely showed any age. "Mother," the middle-aged man insisted, "do you have to go? Father just died and I was just crowned a year ago. I don't know what I'll do without you."

"My son," Aralyn replied, stopping her work to touch Elfwine's cheek, "during the year I have watched you rule since your father's death, you have become a great leader. If the weight of responsibility seems too great, you always have those two old hobbits here to cheer you up. Even at their age, Merry and Pippin are still pulling pranks. You know that you have my eyes?"

"It still won't be the same without you here to advise me."

"For that, you will have your new fiancé from Dol Amroth, who is, by the way, the most beautiful and kind girl I have seen…other than Arwen, my aging brother's wife, of course."

"Mother!"

"Well, it's the truth! Now, can you have the stable boy saddle Astaldo?"

"I still don't understand why you have to leave on such short notice."

"Sam said that he was leaving a month from the time he sent that letter if I did not come. That was two weeks ago. Elfwine, my time has come."

"What about me? What about King Aragorn? Are you just going to leave us?"

"Elfwine, listen to me. I know that I have not told you enough of my life before coming here, but here is something that should help." At that, the woman presented a green-covered book from her bedside table and proceeded to walk towards the door with her bag. "My son, the only advice I can give you is to always treat your people fairly and plan for the future." With no further comment, she walked out the door and straight to the stables. Like herself, the black stallion had grey streaks through his hair, though he looked no different other than that. Aralyn had discovered through the years that Astaldo was somehow related to Shadowfax, therefore possessing long life. Hiking up her ankle-length, grey skirt, the Queen of Rohan mounted her loyal steed and galloped out of the city, gaining many cries of alarm from the townspeople.

Three days later, Aralyn arrived in Hobbiton. Happily, nothing had changed since her last visit.

"Drifter?" a rather fragile and somewhat hesitant voice queried as an elderly hobbit emerged from the hole she had stopped in front of.

"Samwise Gamgee," the woman began, "and here I was thinking that I looked a bit older. You look as if my horse ran you over."

"Gained a little sarcasm, I see…finally. I brought cookware. Did you happen to bring the food?"

"I'm not that old! I can hunt down a couple rabbits even easier since last I saw you."

"Do mind helping me?"

"Of course, Sam."

After helping the halfling onto Astaldo in front of her and his bag in the saddlebags, Aralyn simply pulled on the reigns ever so slightly, sending the horse on a soft trot towards the Grey Havens.

Two days later, upon seeing the dock and the last ship, the woman slowed Astaldo, dismounted with Sam, and unsaddled the horse.

"You are free, my friend. Go wherever you choose." Nuzzling his mistress, the magnificent animal trotted away into the forest.

"You have to admit, Drifter, that the Fellowship is broken."

"No, no, however distance may separate us, we will always be a Fellowship."

Minutes later, they were sailing into the sunset. After an hour of the boat slicing through the cool breeze, a warm glow enveloped the travelers.

"Father? Gandalf? Haldir? Boromir? Mother? Frodo?"

They were all there, standing on a bright, sandy beach with nothing but endless deep green forests, lush fields, peaceful brooks, and simple homes stretching on for miles behind them. It was a paradise. It was the Undying Lands. It was home.

Thanks for reading and please review! I hope that you have enjoyed this story as much as I have. Without your support and advice, it would have never come this far. My next story will be Star Wars, which brings to mind…thank you to those who voted on my poll. By the way, some of you may have noticed that some details of the original story were changed in this chapter, but know that it was done on purpose.


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